


The Silver Lining

by GeminiWishes



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Animated (2007)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Amputation, M/M, Optimus deserves to be happy, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Partial Nudity, Rating May Change, Robot nudity???, Tags May Change, no beta we die like men, philisophical debates as a flirting tactic, they're robots so it's not permanent but still
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-30
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-16 02:13:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 23,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29074608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GeminiWishes/pseuds/GeminiWishes
Summary: After Optimus was expelled from the Autobot Academy, he had no sense of what to do or where to go. Desperate for purpose, he ends up on a mining crew that travels the galaxy. But when their ship is attacked, Optimus' life will change forever.Whether or not he'll be able to handle those changes is yet to be determined.
Relationships: Megatron/Optimus Prime
Comments: 136
Kudos: 324





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rinny636](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rinny636/gifts).



> This is entirely Rinpin's fault. I was enabled.
> 
> Nano-klik - about a second  
> Klik - a minute  
> Mega-cycle - 2.6 hours  
> Deca-cycle - 10 days  
> Stellar cycle - a year

Optimus wished for the hundredth time that they had solvent. The _First Light_ didn’t have the space available for solvent reserves, but he could still dream. Pressurized air just didn’t get the grit out from between his plating or in his joints. And he had a lot of grit. 

They’d been stationed at Theta-26 for three deca-cycles now, commissioned by the resident mining colony to drill around a large obstruction in one of the main tunnels with a specialty-type drill head. That wasn’t the frustrating part though. The frustrating part was the debris clean-up. The tunnel ran parallel to a vein of kyrolinium - a common ore that, when processed correctly, had a probability of becoming kurite, an essential metal used for high-grade armor on battleships. Because of this, they couldn’t simply shovel the rock away once it had been broken off. Oh no. Optimus and the others had to _manually_ sort through all of the debris for any traces of kryolinium. 

It was a long and grueling process that left his entire frame aching and lethargic. The lack of proper wash racks and reduced rations certainly wasn’t helping either. It left him feeling worse than he’d ever felt before, even after the most difficult days of boot camp. He grimaced at the memories of doing transformations for mega-cycles at a time. He was almost certain his T-cog was going to melt by the time they were released. On those days, even Elita’s gentle teasing couldn’t brighten his mood. 

Optimus still visibly winced when he thought about Elita-One. 

The investigation didn’t last very long after Sentinel and Optimus were rescued from Archa Seven - partially because of the ship’s records of their trip and the lack of a third spark signature, but also because Sentinel had no problem whatsoever throwing Optimus under the bus. And Optimus had just… let him. Maybe it was his way of punishing himself, or maybe he had genuinely believed it was his fault at the time. 

But the damage had been done. Ultra Magnus expelled Optimus from the Autobot Academy and stripped him of his rank, placing a marker on his permanent record that would exclude him from any federal job positions. It felt like a blur whenever he tried to remember the details of it all. He could recall the smug smirk on Sentinel’s face when Ultra Magnus had delivered the verdict, along with the Magnus’ look of disappointment and shame. 

The worst part had been when he’d packed up his things. He’d been given a single container to place all of his belongings in, and he’d been forced to leave behind a lot of the small trinkets he’d collected in favor of taking more practical things with him. His optics had stung with the optical fluid gathering in them when he’d had to leave behind a palm-sized seashell that Elita had gotten for him. When he’d finished filling up the box, he’d been escorted out of the dormitories by two large officers who never bothered to meet his eye. As Optimus had made his way to the exit, he’d felt the collective energy of everyone’s EM fields running along his armor plating, stinging with disdain and hatred. Other cadets poked their helms out of their dorms to watch as he was escorted off campus grounds. 

Someone had muttered out a venomous “Murderer” as he passed by. It might as well have been a slap in the face. The shame and humiliation of it all had nearly destroyed Optimus, and it had taken every ounce of control he had to not break down crying.

The officers had taken him as far as the front gates before leaving him alone. For a while, Optimus had just stood there, looking around in a lost sort of daze. It wasn’t until the guard at the front gate snapped at him to move along that Optimus was able to gather himself enough to start walking. 

He’d had no idea where he was going. He had nowhere to stay. He hadn’t been offered any kind of severance package or direction of where to go. He had no family to speak of. The only real friends he had were either dead or not speaking to him. 

He was alone.

Optimus made it a few blocks before turning down an alleyway and falling to his knees. He had a panic attack right there, next to a stinking dumpster and a bustling street. The flickers of other EM fields as passer-bys noticed him seemed to just prolong it. By the time Optimus had managed to get back control of himself, the night cycle had begun. He had struggled to his pedes before continuing along, stumbling along for he didn’t know how long.

It wasn’t until a stranger checked his shoulder that Optimus came to a stop. A few datapads stacked on the top of his single box tumbled out onto the ground, and he scrambled to pick them up and inspect them for damage. One of them had cracked along the corner, and another had shattered entirely. In his struggle to pick them up, he had managed to slice up his digits quite a bit. 

That was how Optimus had met Ratchet. While he was distracted in his effort to pick up the now energon-slick pieces of the broken datapad, the old medic had spotted him from the entrance of his clinic and had stepped out to assist him. Ratchet had scolded Optimus for being so careless as to pick up pieces of sharp glass with his bare servos. Optimus had floundered for some sort of apology, but Ratchet had only waved him off before all but dragging him into the clinic so that he could clean and bandage the cuts. 

It didn’t take long for Ratchet to notice that something was wrong and question Optimus about it. Optimus had been too emotionally raw to bother hiding anything to save some face. Ratchet had pitied him as he told him his story, and had offered Optimus a spare room for the night, along with his condolences. Optimus had all but fallen to his knees as he thanked the old mech, but Ratchet had only waved it off, saying it was nothing.

Optimus ended up spending a few deca-cycles at the clinic. He’d done some rather remedial work for Ratchet, like cleaning and helping with security. Optimus was rather shocked with just how often he’d been called to help handle unruly patients. It wasn’t a permanent solution, but it was certainly better than sitting in an alley, surrounded by buy-mechs and syk-suckers.

Ratchet had managed to call in a few favors from old war friends to get Optimus a position on a mining crew that dealt in commission work and frequent travel. At first, Optimus had been hesitant to accept. He was grateful for the opportunity, given his alternatives, but with the position came conditions - not set by his employers, but by Ratchet. 

“One call every other deca-cycle, kid. One with me, and one with a therapist.” Optimus had balked at first; after all, he couldn’t afford to see a psychologist on a miner’s salary. When Ratchet had assured him that he would be paying for the sessions, Optimus had objected. But Ratchet wouldn’t hear otherwise. He recommended Optimus to a small mech who lived on one of Cybertron’s neighboring colonies. 

Optimus had been caught off-guard when he’d discovered that the mech was a neutral. He’d never spoken to a neutral before. Ratchet’s only explanation when Optimus confronted him about it was “You need to talk to someone who isn’t going to just spit propaganda back at you. Just give him a try, alright? He’s a good mech.”

Exhausted and with no other options, Optimus accepted Ratchet’s terms with quite a bit of trepidation. 

The first stellar cycle or two had been difficult to say the least. Getting used to the physical demands of mining and the rigid schedule that the _First Light’s_ crew had to follow had taken its toll on Optimus. But even though his frame was struggling to keep up, Optimus found that he was able to forget about the pain of what had happened, if only for a shift or two.

His therapist had spoken after a few sessions about possibly seeking out a mnemosurgeon to have the memories erased. Apparently, a lot of mechs turned to mnemosurgery after the Great War to simply erase the psychological damage that combat had caused.

The idea of it made Optimus’ plating shudder. No matter how much the memories hurt, he just couldn’t bring himself to have them simply deleted. What right did he have, really, to forget such a thing? He couldn’t just delete what had happened, no more than he could wish for Elita to miraculously reappear. It would have been an insult to her memory to choose to forget her. And if Optimus were honest with himself, he felt that he rather deserved to suffer with the memories of what he’d done - of what he’d allowed to happen.

So no - mnemosurgery was not an option.

No matter how horrible the nightmares were, or how much recharge he lost to them.

Optimus pressed the palms of his servos to his optics, rubbing them as he stood under the stream of pressurized air. The timer went off after a few more nano-kliks, signaling the end of his shower. Optimus walked out of the shower racks and stopped by the small mirror near the doorway. The black and yellow paint around his shoulders and helm was no longer covered in soot, but still looked rather dull. He’d have to stop by the galley to grab his ration before retreating to the barracks for his off-shift. 

There were more mechs out in the hallways of the ship than in the shower racks, and Optimus did his best to pass by unnoticed. A good majority of the crew were forged miners or weight-bearers, making this their ideal career choice. Optimus wasn’t the only mech with a truck alt-mode - heck, he wasn’t even the smallest crew member! - but he was one of the youngest and most inexperienced, which automatically put him at the bottom of the pecking order. 

After the initial few deca-cycles of harassing and jeers, Optimus had learned to keep his helm down and his mouth shut. It was easier to stay unseen. Less likely to get catcalled that way, anyhow. Even though there were a few crewmates who’d treated him with decency, they didn’t outweigh the creeps aboard the ship.

There were three mechs in line at the energon dispenser, so Optimus waited patiently, his ID in hand, ready to scan for his ration. A few mechs were scattered throughout the galley, grouped together and conversing amongst themselves. Optimus didn’t fail to notice how the smaller frames tended to gravitate towards each other as opposed to the larger ones. The line moved up, and as Optimus took a step forward, two more mechs came up behind him.

“-telling ya, it’s real!”

“Bullscrap.”

“No, c’mon, mech. I heard the captain talkin’ about it last shift with the director. I think that’s where they wanna go next after we finish up here.”

“You must have heard wrong, then. No way would the captain ever agree to go on some wild chase because of a couple baseless rumors.”

“They ain’t ‘baseless!’ I got a buddy from Bulidger-Nine who heard about it from Swindle!”

“Oh, well, if _Swindle_ said it’s real-”  
  
“Frag you, mech.” There was the clang of metal on metal - probably shoving. “I know what I heard. It’s real and when we get orders to go find it, I ain’t sharing slag with you.”

The other mech scoffed. “Didn’t know you were a sparkling who still believed in slag like ‘hidden treasure.’”

“It ain’t hidden treasure!”

“Sure, okay - a planet stocked with more energon than a mech could ever need, just sitting there ready for the taking. Sounds legit. Next you’ll be saying you saw a fragging sparkeater in tunnel 12-E.”

“Shove it up your aft!”

Optimus moved up quickly to collect his ration after that, in no mood to get caught up in a fight. The last thing he needed was to end up in medbay and have his pay reduced while he recovered. The dispenser dropped down a sealed, pre-filled cube, and Optimus gladly took it before making a swift exit from the galley. A few mechs watched him go, but Optimus made a point to not meet their optics. 

He made it back to the barracks without any issues, sitting down on his cot before peeling the seal off of the energon ration and swallowing it in a few quick gulps. His tanks ached in protest when the cube was empty, nowhere near full enough. His inner fuel gauge indicated that he was little over 63% now. Not nearly enough, but he wasn’t in any pain now at least. He wasn’t sure that he’d ever be used to this feeling of almost-hunger after so many stellar cycles of three daily fuelings. 

After placing the now-empty cube in the disposal chute, Optimus laid down on his cot and pulled the thin insulation cover over himself. There were only three other mechs in this section of the barracks, so it was rather quiet for the time being. There was a quiet rule when in the barracks, but some mechs didn’t like to follow that rule. There was plenty of rough-housing, loud conversations, and interfacing that made recharge hard to come by at times. Optimus took advantage of the rare quiet, and quickly fell into recharge.

* * *

Optimus was carting debris out of the tunnel, trying to get as much of it cleared out as possible while the drill went through cooldown. Because of how dense the rock was, the drill head had to take frequent breaks to keep from overheating and either melting or sparking an explosion - because apparently, kyrolinium was highly flammable in the right environment. Which was just their luck. 

Optimus got to the drop-off point and simply handed off the cart instead of emptying it out. He’d noticed a few spare carts near the mouth of one of the caves. No point in just making more work for himself. He found the carts without any problem, all gathered together in a makeshift little corral. He snatched one of the carts and checked all of the wheels before turning it toward the drill.

He stopped when he heard voices. One of them - a deep, gravely hiss - wasn’t familiar, but the other - a nasally whistle - was. The head director of their operation was a smaller bot with a two-wheeled alt-mode. He hadn’t asked too many questions when Optimus had been taken on, and he’d been thankful for it. The director was a no-nonsense type who took his job quite seriously. Optimus had only been around the mech for a few kliks at most. Despite his smaller stature, he had commanded Optimus’ compliance and respect. 

So when he heard the mech scoff, he paused.

“If you honestly think that I’m going to listen to this nonsense for another nano-klik, your logic sensors really must have fried.”

“I’m not crazy!” the rougher voice snapped. “I know that it’s there. The mineral composition of the debris found in that sector is rich with energon. If we could just fly in and do a scan of the system-”

“Since it seems to have slipped your processor, I’ll remind you-” hissed the director, “You are not some fanatic pirate hopped up on circuit boosters looking for your next adventure. You were hired out by the company that I represent. That means _you_ work for _me_.” Optimus dared to peek around the rocks to see the two mechs. There was the director, yellow and cream plating dusted with fine gravel and ash, standing his ground against a mech who was easily twice Optimus’ size with red and black plating and burning blue optics.

“And I’ll remind you,” spat the mech as he took a step closer to the director, “that you’re takin’ passage on _my_ ship with the help of _my_ crew. Meanin’ I get a say in where we go. And I say we’re goin’ to the Zeta sector to search the Sentori system.”

“No, we’re not,” retorted the director. His plating was ruffling now as he lifted his chin higher. “And if I hear you continue to spout this slag, I’ll take it to the board.” He pulled a datapad from subspace before turning away from the mech - the captain of the _First Light_ , Optimus realized. Optimus ducked out of the small space and pushed the cart back towards the rest of the crew, his processor mulling over what he’d just heard. He was reminded of the conversation he’d overheard between two other crewmates in his last off-shift, but quickly shook the thought away in favor of concentrating on sorting through rock.

* * *

It was another deca-cycle before they managed to destroy the block-up and finish the clean-up. Optimus was relieved to hear that the job was done and they would be moving on, and he knew he wasn’t alone in that regard. A few exhausted mechs had pulled out some carefully stashed cubes of high-grade and started having a celebration in the galley as the _First Light_ left port and began the journey to their next destination.

One mech had offered Optimus a drink that he’d politely declined. Even before he’d been expelled from the Academy, Optimus had never really been one for parties. He grabbed his ration and headed back to the barracks. He was due to check in with Ratchet this off-shift, and planned to power down as soon as he finished.

He sat back on his cot and finished his ration before making the call. There was a beep, signaling that it was ringing. There was a click, followed by the familiar grumble of the old medic. “Hey, kid.”

“Hello, Ratchet. How are you?”

“I’ve been better,” he sighed over the comms. “Busy day at the clinic. Don’t think I’m ever going to get this disinfectant smell off of me.”

Optimus smiled. He remembered how Ratchet would complain like this about the work he did without really meaning any of it. He loved his job, and wouldn’t stop for anything. It was admirable. “I’m sure that you’ll manage. How’s Ambulon?”

“Ah, he’s still squeamish. Poor bot almost glitched when a mech came in with his arm ripped off. I ended up having to call in an old friend to help me reattach it while Ambulon laid down.”

“I still don’t see why he went into medicine if it bothers him so much,” Optimus thought aloud. He’d only been at the clinic for a few deca-cycles, but he’d gotten quite the eyeful in that time. It had been... disturbing, but nothing so overwhelming that Optimus had felt lightheaded. Ambulon, on the other hand, had quite a few close calls. 

The mech was a new-hire at the clinic, trying to earn extra credits for his residency. He was a nice enough mech, if a bit skittish. He’d always been polite to Optimus - always mindful whenever Optimus was cleaning and even brought him energon a few times. Ratchet had hinted that Ambulon was rather smitten with him, but Optimus highly doubted that. 

Ambulon was a smart mech.

“Eh, he’s mentioned something about a position at some fancy hospital on a colony planet somewhere. Not sure how legit it is, but I’m certainly not gonna crush the mech’s dreams.” Ratchet looked at Optimus with what he could only describe as concern. “And you? How have you been holding up?”

“I’m fine.” It was the easiest answer to give.

“Gonna need a little bit more than that, kid,” said Ratchet. When Optimus didn’t answer right away, he added “Remember what your therapist said.”

He really hated when Ratchet brought that up. He knew he had no reason to be ashamed - Ratchet was his friend, and he’d been the one to refer Optimus in the first place. But he couldn’t help feeling like it was a waste of time to talk about his feelings - no matter how much he’d been told otherwise. 

‘A burden shared is a burden halved’ his aft.

“Tired,” he finally admitted. He went on to tell Ratchet about the job they’d just finished and how tedious it had been to finish. Ratchet had sympathized, noting how ridiculous it seemed to use a metal to reinforce ships when it was highly flammable in its rawest form. 

They talked for half a mega-cycle, catching each other up on their lives and just enjoying each other’s company. By the time they said their goodbyes, Optimus was ready to fall into recharge. He hung up and immediately curled up in his cot, offlining his optics and powering down.

* * *

Optimus was jolted awake not two mega-cycles to the shriek of an alarm. He stumbled out of his cot and looked around to try and get some idea of what the emergency was. A few mechs were scrambling around the barracks, shouting at each other to “get moving” and “hurry it up already!” He ran over to the nearest crewmate - a larger mech with a striking orange paint job - and hurriedly asked what was happening.

“Some fragger’s trying to board the ship! They crippled our thrusters and cut the main power. We got orders to get to the escape pods!” He pulled a loose bit of heavy chain out from under a cot before grabbing Optimus’ shoulder and forcibly turning him around. “Get moving!” 

Not needing any more incentive, Optimus made a beeline for the exit. Out in the corridor, he could see that the power had indeed been cut, leaving only the backup lights that illuminated the pathways. Both miners and crew members ran past, the collective shouting echoing through the ship. He pulled up the emergency exit procedures on his optical feed and made his way down the designated pathway, feeling for the familiar weight of his axe in his subspace. 

He ran into a larger group a few kliks later that seemed to be crowding in the corridor, pushing and shoving each other in their attempts to get through. The air was getting warmer with the combined ex-venting and exhaust as they fought to get closer to whatever was at the other end. Optimus took a moment to wonder why everyone was panicking like this when they spent so much time underground in tunnels much smaller than this - and then he was slammed into the wall.

“Move it!” snarled a navy blue mech before he all but dove into the crowd. Alerts and queries to activate combat protocols popped up in Optimus’ optical feed, and he fought to wave them all away as he got to his feet again. Just as he managed to regain his balance, he was shoved up against the crowd as more and more bots filled up the already cramped hallway. Optimus struggled to keep himself upright as more and more bodies began to shove forward.

A sudden scream rang out above all the noise, followed by the sound of blaster fire. The crowd fell into a frenzy as they all turned and began to fight to get away from the line of fire. Optimus felt his face mask snap over his mouth with a ‘snck’ before he was off. He had no doubts as to who was firing on the crew. What he couldn’t understand was _why_ . Why would anyone want to try and commandeer a contract mining vessel? Did they think they had precious cargo? They’d certainly be disappointed when they learned otherwise. He doubted it was for the ship itself. The _First Light_ wasn’t some rinky-dink little scud, but it was no elite warship either. 

The hallway split off into two, and Optimus referenced his inner-map before running for the left corridor. He’d have to go around the engine room one level down before reaching the escape pods at this rate, but it was his only shot. He could vaguely hear the screaming around him, along with the growing shriek of blaster fire, but he tuned it out in favor of focusing on his escape - even if a tiny voice in his processor was screaming at him to turn around and help the downed crewmates.

He wasn’t sure how long he’d been running for by the time he reached a dead-end. He screeched to a stop and slammed a fist against the containment seal. “Hey!” he cried. Whoever had dropped the door either hadn’t heard him or had simply ignored his plea. He tried to locate some kind of switch or failsafe to open the door, only to turn up with nothing. The fighting was getting closer now, and already a few more mechs were closing in on the door.

“Fraggit!” one of them shouted as he kicked at the door. 

“What do we do?!”

“They’re gonna kill us! Oh frag, _oh frag!”_

“Hang on!” Another mech stepped forward, huge with pale green plating. He pointed to Optimus and the others. “We gotta break that door down, but we gotta do it all at once. Got it?” they didn’t have much of a choice, so Optimus agreed. Everyone quickly got into position and readied to ram the door. “On three!” the green mech shouted.

“One!” Optimus readjusted his stance. 

“Two!” He grit his denta.

“Thr-UGH!” The whine of hot plasma and the combustion of armor plating was almost deafening in his audials. Optimus stumbled as his processor rattled with the reverberation of the sound. More blaster fire rang out, and the other mechs were down. A stray shot caught Optimus’ knee, and he choked on a scream as he fell to the floor. Burning hot metal fried the wires surrounding the knee joint, rendering it completely useless. He tried to roll over, but a pede slammed down on his back, effectively pinning him to the deck.

“Don’t try anythin’ stupid, legs,” said a rough, gravely voice. “I want you online, but it won’t be no big loss if I gotta blow a hole in yer brain module for misbehavin’.” Dozens of warnings popped up on his feed, and Optimus was finding it harder and harder to wave them away, especially when one of them indicated the sudden loss of energon thanks to his wound. A faint sort of ringing started in his audials - or maybe his processor, Optimus wasn’t entirely sure at this point.

He was only faintly aware of his arms being yanked behind his back and something clamping around his wrists before a flashing notification reading EMERGENCY SHUTDOWN ENGAGED filled his vision.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nano-klik - about a second  
> Klik - a minute  
> Mega-cycle - 2.6 hours  
> Deca-cycle - 10 days  
> Stellar cycle - a year

REBOOT PROTOCOLS INITIATED: PROCEED?

**Y** /N

LOW ENERGON LEVELS DETECTED: PROCEED?

**Y** /N

REBOOTING…

Slowly, Optimus onlined his optics. It took a few moments for his vision to readjust before he was able to take in his surroundings. It was dark - the only source of light came from other mechs’ optics and what appeared to be a set of energy beams. The cell - because that had to be what this was - wasn’t very big. It was slightly crowded with mechs who either stood or sat down.

He frowned and tried to sit up, only to find it was more than a little difficult. A blinking LOW FUEL gauge on his optical feel answered that question quickly enough. Optimus leaned back against a wall and tried to gather his bearings. He could feel a pair of cuffs on his wrists, and a moment of probing them with his EM field revealed that they were indeed stasis cuffs.

As he adjusted, a sharp pain shot through his leg, causing him to grit his denta and hiss with pain. Looking down, Optimus could faintly make out the burnt wiring and melted plating of his knee. In an instant, he recalled what exactly had led to both his injury and his situation. Someone had attacked the  _ First Light _ and taken him and some other mechs prisoner, if not the whole crew.

“What happened?” he quietly asked the mech sitting next to him - an orange and red empurata. A singular yellow optic flickered towards him before looking away.

“Yer ship was captured. Alla yer crewmates are either offline or here in the brig.”

Optimus’ tanks turned as he recalled the green mech who had been shot in the back as he tried to break down the door. “But… But why?”

“Ya haven’t figured it out?” The empurata sounded annoyed - or maybe amused. It was hard to tell when he didn’t have a face. “They’re slave traders. Musta known ya’d be too tired to fight back if they had the bearings ta go after a crew big as yers.” The empurata eyed him before asking “What ‘xactly do ya do?”

“I uh- We’re contracted miners. Just finished a job on Theta-26,” Optimus explained. His processor was spinning now. Slave traders. He’d been captured by slave traders. “Wh-What are they going to do with us?”

“Sell us, frag us, put us to work, melt us down for spare parts,” the empurata said rather indifferently, “Frag if I know. They don’t tell us slag down here ‘cept to sit down and shut up.” That did nothing to ease the growing panic. Optimus swallowed the lump in his intake and fought to keep his vents even. He could feel his EM field changing and beginning to stretch out, and quickly yanked it close to his person. “Careful there,” muttered the empurata. 

“Sorry,” Optimus said softly. The empurata only grunted in reply. Optimus thought for a moment before asking the empurata how long he’d been down here.

“Couple a’ deca-cycles, if my eternal chronometer can be trusted, but don’t count on it.” Something red caught Optimus’ optic. He looked just past the stranger to find a handful of pairs of red optics in the cell adjacent to theirs. Optimus’ optics widened with surprise.

“There are Decepticons here too?” The empurata was staring at him now, and despite the fact that he didn’t have a face, Optimus got the feeling that the empurata thought he was joking.

“Uh, yeah? No fraggin’ slag. Slave traders are neutrals. What, you thought there were only Autobots on this ship?”

Optimus blinked. “Aren’t  _ you _ an Autobot?”

The empurata said nothing, just stared at him. After a moment, he leaned in closer and hissed in a venomous tone “Look me in the optic and ask me that again.”

Ah. Right. Optimus winced as he leaned back. He was thankful that his mask was still up so no one could see him scowling. Empurata was something used by the old Senate back before the Great War, and after the Autobots had won, they didn’t necessarily abolish the laws that allowed empurata as a form of punishment. It wasn’t common, but not unheard of.

Why would anyone want to stay loyal to a cause that had permanently mutilated their frame and their processor.

Optimus muttered out a shaky apology, to which the empurata responded with a gruff “Frag off.” 

Optimus leaned back against the wall and tried to think over his options. Surely the _First Light_ would have sent out some sort of distress signal during the attack. If the captain hadn’t someone onboard would have sent out a signal. Optimus grimaced as he thought about Ratchet, and how he just checked in with him only a few mega-cycles ago. He wouldn’t know anything was wrong for another two deca-cycles at least, when Optimus didn’t answer his call. He tried to activate his comm, but a sharp zap from the stasis cuffs and a COMMUNICATIONS DISABLED alert on his feed kept him from so much as accessing his contact list. 

His next thought was that someone at their next scheduled job would notice when they didn’t show up. They’d try to call them, and when that didn’t work, they’d call the company and the company would send out enforcers to search for them. 

There were, unfortunately, multiple holes in that plan. For one thing, Optimus had no idea what their next job was supposed to be, or how long it would have taken them to get there. He didn’t even know if they’d have had to take a spacebridge. That presented him with the same problem he’d faced with Ratchet - an unknown length of time before the crew’s absence was even noticed. 

Then there was the conversation Optimus had overheard between the captain and the director to take into consideration. If the mechs hadn’t come to an agreement, there was a chance that they hadn’t even  _ had _ another job lined up. Optimus doubted it, given the fuel and energy it took to launch the  _ First Light _ from the mining colony on Theta-26. It would have been incredibly stupid to have gone through all of that without even having a destination in mind. But if the captain had decided to go ahead and set a course for the Sentori system in the Zeta sector-

Then no one was coming to look for them. They wouldn’t even know that anything was wrong.

Optimus’ EM field began projecting his anxiety, and alerts were popping up in his optical feed. 

“Would ya quit that?” the empurata snapped. “The last thing anyone here needs is ya causin’ a panic.” Optimus wanted to snap at him that he couldn’t exactly help it, but managed to bite down on his glossa. He was grateful that his facemask was still up so he didn’t express too much. With a huff, he settled in, allowing himself to fall into recharge in the hopes that if anything, it would help pass the time.

* * *

Optimus was beginning to understand what the empurata had meant when he’d said that he couldn’t rely too much on his own chronometer. After a few solar cycles of falling in and out of recharge, Optimus was beginning to doubt the accuracy of his own chronometer too. He’d tried to ask some of the other mechs around him, but they were just as clueless as him. Optimus briefly wondered if the slavers were purposely messing with their internals somehow. Maybe it was a feature of the stasis cuffs? 

The slavers certainly had made it clear that they had no qualms over offlining the prisoners if they acted up. Twice already, mechs had tried to rush their captors when they brought energon into the brig, and the slavers hadn’t hesitated to shoot them dead. 

Optimus’ knee wasn’t getting any better. The stasis cuffs were rendering his self-repair systems all but moot, leaving the wiring and inner mechanisms exposed and sticky with energon. It needed to be tended to, or run the risk of becoming infected with rust or something even worse. Optimus hadn’t dared to bring it up to his captors though.For all he knew, they might decide that it wouldn’t be worth the trouble to waste medical supplies and care on him and shoot him then and there. 

He tried to distract himself as best he could. He’d tried being friendly with the empurata, but when he’d asked him for his designation, the empurata had actually gathered his strength and trudged over to the other side of the cell. 

Glad to know he was still as likeable as he had been in academy.

So Optimus tried running through possible escape plans. He doubted any of them would actually work, but it kept his processor busy and gave him a small sliver of hope. He started paying closer attention to the mechs who came to bring them their energon, analyzing them for any sort of weaknesses. 

A rotation of twelve mechs would come down to feed them, and if their language and weaponry were any indication, they weren’t very high in the pecking order of the slavers’ crew. One of the mechs had a damaged optic that left his right side completely vulnerable. Two more had limb replacements that were either still healing or hadn’t taken well to integrating into their frames. They all seemed to have short tempers and something to prove, which didn’t bode well for Optimus and the other prisoners. On more than one occasion, they’d dragged someone out of their cell and beaten them to near-deactivation - just to show that they could. Optimus’ tanks turned whenever that happened.

Optimus onlined from a stasis nap to the harsh sounds of jeering and laughing as a few of the slavers took turns kicking one of the prisoners. Optimus could hear what sounded like two others crying out, begging for them to stop. He could hear the shriek of some sort of creature as well. One of the slavers broke free of the group to kick against the side of the cell, shouting for whatever made the noise to ‘be quiet.’ 

The shrieking only continued, which seemed to only make the mech angrier. In a moment, the mech signaled the cell to open and reached inside, pulling out a strange avian minibot by one of its wings. The minibot was shrieking, thrashing and trying to claw its way out of the slaver’s hold. 

The prisoner that the other slavers had been beating was suddenly scrambling to his pedes, fighting to get to the minibot. It took four other mechs to pin him to the floor, and they stopped holding back after that.

Optimus had to look away, squeezing his optics shut and trying desperately to drown out the screams of pain and rage.

By the time Optimus had onlined his optics again, the energy beams of his cell had vanished and the now beaten and broken mech was thrown inside, crashing to the unforgiving floor. Someone was screaming, the sound ringing in Optimus’ helm as he stared at the energon that was slowly pooling around the mech. The shouting got louder before the minibot was thrown in as well, along with three others whose EM fields were absolutely radiating distress. The slavers were saying something, but Optimus wasn’t paying them any mind. His attention was focused solely on the injured mech - and the sleek purple Decepticon badge on his chassis, slick with energon. 

Optimus had learned early on in his time on the  _ First Light _ that the Decepticons hadn’t been destroyed, as the history vids he’d enjoyed so much had implied. While they certainly had been severely reduced in numbers, they hadn’t been completely wiped out. No - as it turned out - the Decepticons were still very much around. They’d retreated to the far reaches of Autobot space, presumably to lick their wounds and replenish their numbers. It had been a sobering moment for Optimus, to learn that the enemy he’d been assured had been defeated stellar cycles was, in fact, alive and well. 

Optimus often wondered just how much of his education had been a lie.

Some of the other bots were noticing the badge as well, murmuring to each other as they eyed the mech - the Decepticon, Optimus corrected himself - lying prone on the floor of their cell. 

“Boss!” one of the minibots - a muted red - cried out, crawling on their servos and knees to get closer. Another minibot - a spark twin of the first, perhaps, aside from the purple plating - was cradling the injured avian, gently petting its helm to try and distract it from the pain in its twisted and broken wing. “Boss, can-can ya hear me?” The red minibot’s voice was wavering as he sat in front of the Decepticon’s helm. He held out his servos as if he wanted to help in some way but wasn’t sure how. 

Slowly, ever so slowly, the Decepticon tilted his helm to the side, revealing a bright red visor. “Rumble: desist.” The minibot only scowled at the Decepticon. “Outburst: unnecessary.” The third minibot - another winged model - chirped weakly as they slowly crawled up along the Decepticon’s back.

The murmuring voices grew louder, and one of the nearby prisoners had gathered the courage to more towards the down mech, glowering menacingly. The group of minibots must have read the intent in the mech’s actions, because in a moment, they were on the defensive - hissing and spitting and shouting at the mech to “back off!”

It was… strange to see such small bots being so protective of a Decepticon. The way that they fretted and fawned over their ‘boss’, gently and filled with worry - Optimus wasn’t sure what exactly to think. This strange cycle of comforting the Decepticon and snapping at anyone who dared come too close went on for a while. After some time, the three minibots who were able to move maneuvered the larger mech up against a nearby wall, much to the other prisoners’ chagrin. The injured avian minibot was placed in the Decepticon’s lap while the other curled up in the space between the mech’s helm and shoulder. The twin minibots sat on either side of the Decepticon, scowling and hissing at the other prisoners if they so much as looked at them.

* * *

The next time the slavers came by with energon, the other prisoners all but fought to get their share. Optimus knew he was running dangerously low on energon by this point. Because of his injured knee, he hadn’t been able to move to the front of the cell to receive a ration, and none of the other prisoners were in a hurry to provide him with one. He needed energon now, or he ran the risk of going into an emergency shutdown. 

So, with gritted denta and steadied nerves, Optimus slowly pulled himself up onto his pedes. He put almost all of his weight on his good leg, but even that wasn’t enough to keep him from wobbling dangerously in place. The walk to the energy beams was a tedious and painful affair, and by the time Optimus managed to make it to the front to receive the quarter-sized ration, a dozen alerts warning him about his knee had popped up and been waved away. It soon became a balancing act of getting back to his spot on the wall without spilling the open cube or putting too much weight on his bad leg. Having his servos cuffed together certainly wasn’t helping at all.

“Back off!” 

“Watch it, you little scraplet!”

“Shove it up your actuator, slaghead!”

Optimus glanced back to see the twin minibots being cornered by one of the larger prisoners - a weight-bearer, if his frame was anything to go by. Each twin held two ration cubes in their servos, and Optimus took a moment to be envious that they managed to get so much fuel. 

“You think you get to just take as much as you want cause you’re hanging around a Con?” snarled the larger mech.

Apparently, Optimus wasn’t the only one who felt cheated.

“It’s for our brothers, slag-for-brains!” The louder twin - Rumble, Optimus remembered - moved in front of his twin to stare down the mech who was easily five times his size. The little minibot was either incredibly brave or incredibly stupid. “It’s nun’a your fraggin’ business anyways! So back off!”

“Keep mouthin’ off like that and I’ll do more than kick you, stupid glitch!” Optimus had no doubt that the mech would follow through with that threat. Genuine fear began to grow in his spark, and before he knew what he was doing, he was moving. In a moment, Optimus was across the cell, frame shaking as fresh energon dribbled down his legs from the wound. 

“Come on, stop it,” he said as he moved to stand in between the large mech and the minibot. “You’re going to get the guards’ attention and then we’ll all be slagged.”

“Stay outta this,” snapped the mech, orange optics narrowing at Optimus. Out of the corner of his optic, Optimus could see one of the twins tugging the other one back over to the Decepticon, speaking quietly to his brother. “And where the frag do you little scraplets think you’re going?!” He was following after the minibots, and Optimus cursed as he struggled to keep up. 

“Wait! Just-Just wait!” Optimus called out, his optical feed half blinded by injury alerts. It was only because of his bootcamp training that Optimus was able to push through the pain and catch up to the mech. And the entire time, he ignored the little voice inside of him that was screaming at him, demanding to know why he was risking his spark like this. “Stop!” The mech spun around, snatching Optimus by the throat with both servos, and started to squeeze.

“I said stay out of this!” Optimus grunted as the tubes in his throat were slowly pinched off as the mech slowly tightened his grip. 

“J-Just let me-” he choked out, holding on tight to the mech’s wrist in a vain attempt to alleviate the pressure.

“What? Just let you what?” The mech spat out the words, and Optimus grimaced behind his mask at the demeaning tone in his voice. Gritting his denta, Optimus held out his meager quarter ration and offered it to the mech.

“Take mine, o-okay? Just… Just please stop.” The mech stared at the offered cube, glancing between it and Optimus. With a scoof, he snatched the cube from him and shoved him away, knocking Optimus off balance and sending him crashing to the floor. The mech downed the ration in one gulp before crushing the cube and tossing it down in front of Optimus’ face.

“Watch yourself, lil’ Con, ‘cause your bodyguard may not be around next time you mouth off.” As if to add insult to injury, the mech slammed his pede into Optimus’ side with a sickening crunch. A weak croaking noise was all Optimus was able to make as pain wracked his frame. An array of damage notifications joined the low-fuel ones on his optical feed. The ache of hunger swirled with the sharper pain of the kick - and it took everything in Optimus to keep from crying. 

No one tried to help him up, and Optimus refused to simply lie there like an invalid. So, with a steadying breath, Optimus pulled himself up and scooted over to the nearest wall, unable to even attempt to get up with the now free-flowing energon coming from his knee.

He hadn’t even had the chance to get into a comfortable position before the EMERGENCY SHUTDOWN ENGAGED alert appeared.

* * *

REBOOT PROTOCOLS INITIATED: PROCEED?

**Y** /N

LOW ENERGON LEVELS DETECTED: PROCEED?

**Y** / N

REBOOTING…

REBOOT PROTOCOLS ABORTED: INSUFFICIENT ENERGON LEVELS

EMERGENCY SHUTDOWN ENGAGED

* * *

WARNING: CRITICAL LOW ENERGON LEVELS DETECTED

PERMANENT SHUTDOWN IMMINENT

* * *

REBOOT PROTOCOLS INITIATED: PROCEED?

**Y** /N

LOW ENERGON LEVELS DETECTED: PROCEED?

**Y** /N

REBOOTING…

The first thing Optimus was able to determine when he rebooted was the tubing coming out of his elbow. It was a foreign object that was attached to vital tubing that ran directly to his spark and processor. Warnings lit up his optical feed, demanding that the intruding object be removed, but Optimus couldn’t find the strength to even twitch his digits. He could faintly hear soft voices, but the static in his audials prevented him from being able to make out what was being said. 

He wasn’t even able to online his optics before he was fading into emergency shutdown once more.

* * *

The next time Optimus managed to reboot, he felt that some of his earlier fatigue had faded away. He wasn’t anywhere near full power, but when he attempted to move, his frame was able to follow his commands - even if the movements were a bit sluggish. His optics slowly rebooted as well, and he saw the now familiar prison cell around him, dotted with fellow prisoners. He didn’t see the large mech from earlier however.

“I think he’s awake.”

“You said that last time.”

“He was! S’not my fault he went back into recharge so fast.”

“Rumble. Frenzy: desist.” Optimus blinked in surprise as a pressure he hadn’t noticed before on his chassis shifted, before the uninjured avian minibot was looking down at him with curious optics. He stared back, unsure what to do or say. Thankfully, he was saved from having to ask the minibot to get off as a servo reached out to the avian. With a trill, the minibot hopped up onto the offered servo and secured itself on its new perch.

“What-” Static made Optimus’ voice nearly impossible to understand. He restarted his vocaliser before trying again. “What happened?” It was shakier and popping, but it would do.

“You ran outta fuel and almost went offline,” one of the twins says matter of factly. 

“Had the final alerts and everything!” the other added. “For a klik, we thought we were too late.”

“But… the energon… Where did you get-?” 

“The boss told us to use some of our rations.” Shocked, Optimus fought to sit up, albeit slowly. “Hey, don’t get up! Boss! Boss, he’s moving!”

“Acknowledged.”

It took a tremendous amount of strength to keep himself up and turn to see the Decepticon leaning against the wall. Even with the low lighting, he was able to better make out the other mech’s frame - blue and gold plating broken up with black, and a piercing red visor. Both avian minibots were resting on his shoulders, curled up and deep in recharge. “You…” Optimus had to rework his glossa before trying to speak again. “Why did you help me?”

“Soundwave: returning the favor. Autobot: protected my cassettes.” The Decepticon - Soundwave, he said his designation was - only looked at him. “Query: Why  _ did _ you?”

“What?”   
  
“Query: Why did you protect my cassettes? Responsibility: does not fall on you.”

“Wh-I could’t just-just do nothing!” He winced at the volume in his voice. He glanced around, silently praying that no one had noticed his outburst. A handful of bots had glanced his way, but after a moment or two, they looked away. The anxiety knotting up in Optimus’ tanks settled slightly as the buzz of combining EM fields fell away. “That mech was going to hurt them. And what for? Because they were getting rations for you and the others? Because he could?” He shook his helm. “I couldn’t just stand idly by and watch it happen when I had the ability to _ do _ something about it.” 

For a moment, Soundwave just stared at him. Optimus fought the urge to squirm. “Observation: Such an odd sentiment. Reasoning: completely Autobot.”

Optimus only huffed out a weak laugh as he said “Well, I  _ am  _ an Autobot.”

“Ugh, don’t remind me,” one of the twins muttered. Optimus smirked behind his mask. It was almost refreshing to see the twins in such high spirits despite the uncertainty of their current dilemma. 

“Faulty reasoning or not, thank you for the energon. I ah, I hadn’t planned for my fuel gauges to get so low, but with this leg-” he motioned to his injured knee to emphasize his point, “-it’s a bit difficult to walk over and grab a ration, you know?” Soundwave glanced at the nasty looking blaster wound, no doubt noticing all of the dried energon streaking down his leg. 

“Wound: improperly dressed. Risk of rust infection: high.”

“I figured,” said Optimus as his head leaned back against the cell wall with a faint thunk. “I didn’t want to mention it to the guards. Don’t know if they’d bother patching it up or just save time and shoot me. Neither option sounds very good, if I’m being completely honest.”

“Ew, it’s leaking.” The red twin scrunched up his face with disgust. “Blegh, I can see the wires!” 

“Don’t fraggin’  _ describe _ it, Rumble! Primus!”

“Don’t listen then!”

As the twins continued to bicker, Optimus looked at Soundwave. “Are they always like this?” 

“Affirmative.”

* * *

From then on, Optimus sat near Soundwave and his cassettes. He’d been formally introduced to them all - Rumble, Frenzy, Ratbat, and Lazerbeak. Lazerbeak was the one who had been hurt by one of the guards, and she was always resting on Soundwave’s shoulder when she wasn’t in his dock. Ratbat mostly stayed curled up on Soundwave’s lap, but occasionally, he would crawl into Optimus’ lap and chirp until Optimus caved and gently pet his head. 

Rumble had told Optimus that he shouldn’t indulge the minibot so much, citing that if he continued, Ratbat would never leave him alone. Optimus was finding it harder and harder to see that as a bad thing. 

Rumble and Frenzy were… high energy. Optimus was hesitant to use any other word to describe the twin cassettes. Rumble was definitely the more outspoken of the two. Optimus wasn’t sure if there really was a filter between Rumble’s processor and his mouth. He was never afraid to say what he was thinking, no matter if it was polite or not. Most of the time though, it wasn’t.

Frenzy, while just as reckless as Rumble, was more than happy to let his brother do most of the talking for them both. Frenzy was more inclined to think before he acted, but it didn't amount to much when Rumble went head first into danger and Frenzy had no choice but to follow. Optimus also learned that Frenzy was a big fan of puzzles. He'd offered to send Frenzy a copy of the puzzle book he'd downloaded to keep himself busy on slow days when there was no work. Frenzy had happily accepted, and Soundwave had thanked him later on during quiet hours. Optimus had assured Soundwave that it was the least he could do, and he wasn't using it himself anyways. Even so, Soundwave had been very appreciative. 

The wound wasn't getting any better. It was actually getting worse, despite his best efforts. Soundwave had actually talked Rumble through the rough patch job to close off the exposed tubing and weld some of the plating back together, but it hadn’t done much aside from stop the energon from leaking. Optimus had spotted the rust some time after consuming his ration one evening. It wasn’t much, but Optimus was hesitant to try and scrape it off. He’d warned Rumble not to touch it either when the cassette offered to try and clean it off and redo some of the patch work. 

He kept the whole leg stationary and had forbade anyone from coming near it, which meant no more lap cuddles for Ratbat. The little minibot had whined and chirped in defiance, but Soundwave and Optimus both were in agreement that it was for the best. Optimus could see the worried expressions on both Rumble and Frenzy’s faces and did his best to keep their spirits high. He’d help Frenzy with some of the more challenging puzzles in the file he’d given him, and listened to Rumble as he regaled him with some rather far-fetched tales about their exploits for the Decepticon cause. 

Optimus didn’t ask about their rank or station in the Decepticons. He’d certainly thought about it when he looked at Soundwave from time to time. He’d take in the features of his frame and the cassettes to try and determine what exactly they did, but he didn’t dare ask. It made it easier to see them as mechs - and not as the enemy he’d been conditioned to hate and fear his entire life.

He tried his best not to think too hard about what would happen when they got to wherever they were going, and simply enjoyed the company of this strange little family.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's a bit shorter than the others, but I hope you guys enjoy all the same.
> 
> Nano-klik - about a second  
> Klik - a minute  
> Mega-cycle - 2.6 hours  
> Deca-cycle - 10 days  
> Stellar cycle - a year
> 
> ::Comm-speak::

Soundwave was proud of himself and his ability to remain calm in even the most dire situations. It was necessary when he was responsible for keeping Decepticon communications running smoothly. Dealing with the cassettes for all these vorns had perfected his mask of serenity. 

When the slavers had attacked his ship enroute to the Nemesis, Soundwave had managed to keep that mask in place, even as he’d been slammed into the floor and cuffed. Rumble and Frenzy had put up quite the fight, but even as they had been subdued, Soundwave hadn’t reacted. He would not give these slavers the slightest indication that they were getting to him. They were less than nothing - they were neutrals. Neutrals were cowards who would rather run away than stand up and fight for what they believed in. 

He’d attempted to send out a distress signal, but whatever programming the slavers had put into his stasis cuffs had actively worked against his commlink before shocking him into a hard reboot, rendering him utterly helpless. 

The brig was utterly underwhelming. Soundwave wasn’t sure what exactly he’d been expecting, but it wasn’t this. He’d honestly thought that the slavers would try to interrogate him for information. They wouldn’t get any, of course, but the expectation was still there. It didn’t take long for Soundwave to piece together that they didn’t actually know who he was. He took a moment to be thankful that Lord Megatron had never required him to take a more active role in public appearances. 

He’d attempted to speak to some of the other prisoners about their comms, but no one in his cell would so much as look at him. Rumble and Frenzy hadn’t taken well to that, but Soundwave had reeled them in before they could make things any worse. Lazerbeak had stayed in his dock, running through algorithms and firewalls in an attempt to breach the ship’s security. Soundwave kept himself occupied with looking over her work and applying it to himself. With any luck, the next time they passed by a port or a ship with a strong enough beacon, he would be able to send a message to Decepticon command.

When the slavers had raided the mining transport, Soundwave took his chance. He compiled all of the data he had gathered about the slavers, their ship schematics, and the crew, compressed it into a single file, and fired it off by bouncing it through the channels of the mining transport’s communications beacon. There had been no response before they were off again and Soundwave’s comm was useless once more. No reply of any kind - not even an alert that the message had failed to go through. 

All he could do was sit and wait.

Soundwave was thankful for his nearly endless patience. He would have most assuredly gone crazy otherwise. 

He kept himself occupied as best he could - running through more of Lazerbeak’s algorithms, giving Ratbat plenty of pets, and keeping Rumble and Frenzy from causing any more unnecessary fights. 

Trying to get his broken frame to move in a way that didn't send him into fits of agony.

And, more recently, keeping the Autobot from shutting down. 

At first, Soundwave hadn't been certain what to make of the limping mech that had put himself between a potential threat and his cassettes. He'd expected him to demand some sort of compensation for his actions - like offering up some of their energon or owing him a favor that would be cashed out at a later date. But no. After instructing Frenzy through the energon transfusion and reboot process, the Autobot had only asked why Soundwave had saved him.

Optimus was kind, if a bit naive and perhaps a tad gullible. Rumble was having so much fun regaling him with tall tales that were as much news to Soundwave as they were to Optimus. Soundwave would argue that Optimus' compassion was as endless as his own patience.

That sort of compassion was a rare thing, especially amongst the Autobot ranks, where anything that didn't resemble complete and total submission to the Council was methodically snuffed out. Soundwave had attempted to read Optimus' EM field a few times in the following deca-cycles, but nothing of significance ever appeared. 

He may have taken a liking to the mech, but Soundwave was not going to offer any sensitive information in exchange for answers about Optimus' past. He'd stressed this to his cassettes over their bond one evening while Optimus was in recharge. They'd all agreed to stay quiet, although Rumble looked rather put out to have been denied the opportunity to tell the Autobot about some of their more classified missions. 

Optimus’ wound wasn’t getting any better. The rust infection was spreading faster than normal - something that Optimus had explained was due to the programming of his stasis cuffs. He and Soundwave had been in agreement to not allow any of the cassettes to try and clean it, for fear of it spreading to one of them. 

Optimus was starting to spend longer and longer in recharge. Soon, he was spending more time recharging than he was awake. When he was awake, Optimus was sluggish, lacking the energy that he’d had a few deca-cycles ago. When Optimus started slurring his words, Soundwave knew that the infection had reached his processor. His motor functions began to suffer not long after. He could no longer hold the rations he was given - Frenzy had taken to feeding Optimus himself. 

While they were cut off from the rest of the Decepticons, Soundwave and his cassettes still had full access to the ship’s own grid. They pulled up basic information, such as the ship’s registration and designation - the _ Dead Eye _ \- and a manifest listing all of the crew members. Lazerbeak had taken to assisting Soundwave with spying on the crew in an effort to keep busy. So when she reported to Soundwave that the captain and first mate had been discussing the trade port they were steadily approaching and what exactly they were planning to do with the mechs in the brig, Soundwave began to have doubts. Their window of opportunity was beginning to close, and for the first time since his capture, Soundwave was worried.

* * *

Soundwave avoided recharge when he could, but his systems had been shouting at him to power down for mega-cycles now. He managed to get Ratbat into his dock without any issues, but Lazerbeak and the twins had adamantly refused. Lazerbeak argued that she would keep an eye on the grid so she could alert him if anything was amiss while he recharged. Frenzy wanted to watch over Optimus, who had fallen into recharge once again. Rumble refused to dock without his brother, and he wanted to make sure “OP” was alright. Soundwave would have argued their points, but the fatigue was becoming harder and harder to fight off, so he allowed it.

Soundwave was unceremoniously awoken less than three mega-cycles later to Lazerbeak shrieking through their shared bond and the shrill buzzing of the ship’s alarm. The other prisoners in the cell were frantically looking around, confused as to what the new sound could mean. Soundwave cleared away the static of recharge and pulled up Lazerbeak’s findings.

The  _ Dead Eye _ had been hit with null ray fire before being pulled up into a tractor beam. All outer defenses had been neutralized and the main hanger had been infiltrated. They were being forcefully boarded.

Soundwave and Lazerbeak scrambled to trace the invading ship’s signature. The grid was flooded with alerts from the  _ Dead Eye _ and her crew, panicking and demanding to know what was happening. Lazerbeak was the one to pinpoint the nature of the invading signature, and a happy trill filled her end of the bond. 

Decepticon.

They had been found.

Soundwave took a nano-klik to be relieved before focusing. Opening the bond to his cassettes, he sent them orders. Ratbat would remain docked for now, on standby for if Soundwave needed to deploy him. Lazerbeak would also stay with Soundwave due to her injuries. Rumble and Frenzy were ordered to be ready to run. Soundwave had pulled up security footage in his optical feed, so he knew that there were guards coming to the brig. Whether to try and escape with the prisoners or put them all down was yet to be determined. The twins would use the resulting chaos to escape the cell and find the Decepticons boarding the ship.

::What about OP?:: Rumble asked through the bond as he kneeled in front of Optimus’ helm where he’d been laid out. Frenzy met Soundwave’s optics, but said nothing. Soundwave knew that the twins had become good friends with the Autobot, but he could not allow that affection to distract them from their mission. 

::Autobot: will not improve under twin supervision. Orders: Escape and rendezvous with Decepticons. Directions: will be sent through Lazerbeak.:: It wasn’t the answer the twins were looking for, but despite their grimacing, they both shot back an affirmative over the bond before Lazerbeak forwarded the ship’s schematics. 

Sure enough, four of the slavers that usually brought down energon arrived a klik later, blasters raised and screaming orders to all of the prisoners to get back up against the far walls of their respective cells. Rumble and Frenzy melted into the crowds, and Soundwave brought up their signatures in his optical feed to keep track of them. Soundwave was shoved as the other prisoners joined him on the far wall. Lazerbeak squawked indignantly, flapping her injured wing as she fought to regain her balance on Soundwave’s shoulder. 

Knowing there wasn’t much else he could do here in this cell, Soundwave leaned back against the wall of his cell, dimmed his optics, and dove into the ship’s grid with grim determination.

* * *

Megatron was losing his patience. It had been in rather short supply ever since Soundwave’s signal had gone dark deca-cycles ago. Megatron had expected Soundwave back with a report on the current geopolitical climate of some of the neighboring alien races. When he’d only been met with a SIGNAL NOT FOUND alert and no other explanation, Megatron had sent out a call to all nearby Decepticons to investigate. Ravage, who had stayed behind on the Nemesis with Megatron, had become nearly inconsolable. She snarled and swiped her claws at anyone who dared approach her, save for Megatron himself. 

For deca-cycles, there had been no word. No explanation or excuses. Megatron was ready to start interrogating some of those aliens for capturing his Third-in-Command when the signal came through. It was a set of coordinates, along with a simple message - “CAPTURED BY SLAVE TRADERS. ASSISTANCE REQUESTED - SW”

The Nemesis had rerouted its course as soon as Megatron was told that they were the closest. One of the ship’s navigators had calculated the most likely place Soundwave would be with the coordinates that had been provided. 

As Megatron strode into the docking bay of the slavers’ ship, he made a mental note to reward that navigator for providing such accurate calculations. Ravage seemed to agree with his decision as she eagerly purred as she walked alongside him.

Megatron took great pleasure in blasting every slaver he saw with his fusion cannon, the familiar weight and faint whine of the weapon a balm on the otherwise disgusting feeling that this entire ship gave him. He’d especially enjoyed how the supposed captain had begged for his life as Megatron had pinned him down beneath his pede and ordered him to give them all the information they had about the prisoners aboard the ship. The captain had pleaded, offering absorbent amounts of shanix that Megatron highly doubted the mech possessed. When the mech had the gall to then offer Megatron his pick of any of the prisoners in the brig, something white hot bloomed in his spark that had Megatron pressing down harder on the slaver’s already cracked plating.

There were few things that Megatron truly and utterly despised. He told the slaver as much as he pressed harder and harder. “But if there is one thing I hate more than anything,” he growled, his optics nearly blazing in their intensity, “It’s a mech who would believe that I hold any desire to possess a mech in the way that I once was.” With that, Megatron put the full weight of his frame upon the slaver’s frame. The armor caved in with a sickening crunch and a howl of pain that faded into a lifeless gurgle. When Megatron lifted his pede away from the now-lifeless shell, his pede was covered in energon and gore. Ravage’s tail flicked and her EM field bloomed with approval and delight.

Megatron glanced over his shoulder to the rest of the slavers who had been cornered by a squadron of Decepticon soldiers. He beheld their horrified expressions and relished the terror in their EM fields. “Does anyone else wish to offer me ‘a little morsel?’” he questioned, using the term that the captain had used. The slavers shook their helms quickly, a few of them whimpering. Megatron sneered before turning towards the doorway that led to one of the main corridors of the ship. 

::I am not taking prisoners today:: he said over his commlink before passing through the doorway. The sound of blaster fire and screaming from the docking bay slowly faded away as Megatron headed for the brig, Ravage following close behind.

* * *

Megatron was about a level above the brig when he ran into Rumble and Frenzy. Ravage was on them in an instant, checking them over for injuries and speaking to them over their shared bond. Rumble whined and complained as Ravage nudged at the plating of his chassis, where a series of dents and scratches had disfigured the paint and warped the metal. Frenzy filled Megatron in as quickly and efficiently as he was able. 

Soundwave had been beaten to the point that he was incapable of moving. Lazerbeak had also been injured. They were all hovering over EMPTY on their internal fuel gauges. Megatron took a moment to scold himself for offlining the slaver captain so quickly. He would have stretched it out over  _ deca-cycles _ if he’d known. Only after having made the sorry excuse for a mech  _ beg _ him for death would Megatron have granted it to him.

It was only because Frenzy was insistent that Soundwave be brought aboard the Nemesis for treatment that Megatron managed to set aside his fury. There would be time later for vengeance. His friend needed him. 

Rumble and Frenzy led them the rest of the way. The first thing Megatron noticed when they entered the brig was the smell. An almost overwhelming stench of soured energon and illness filled the hollow prison. Cells upon cells were packed to near-full capacity with Cybertronians, with little regard for which faction they belonged to. Mechs shouted for companions or answers or simply to be heard. As he passed the cells, mechs either shrieked with fear and scrambled away or pressed as close to the energy beams as they dared, crying out for their leader to release them so they could enact their own justice. He was tempted to do just that before he spotted Soundwave.

Crushing the mechanism that powered the energy beams of the cell was of no consequence to Megatron, and he strode into the cell with little regard for the other prisoners who fought to make way for him. Soundwave’s visor flickered online as he lifted his helm. Ravage crawled into Soundwave’s lap and pressed her helm against his docking station. Lazerbeak trilled softly from her perch on his shoulder. Megatron took in the sorry state of her wings, along with the multitude of dents, cracks, and scratches littered along Soundwave’s own frame. 

“Apologies that I did not arrive sooner,” he finally said. “I do hope that you’ll forgive me for my tardiness.” He couldn’t help but smirk at the casual tone he used.

“Apology: unnecessary. Soundwave: should be the one to apologize. Soundwave: compromised. Soundwave: has brought shame to the Decepticons.”

“On the contrary,” said Megatron, “I would argue that this has helped our cause tremendously. We now have double the energon we did before, and we will be able to acquire a nice sum of shanix from stripping this vessel.” He met Soundwave’s optics and he added “If I punished my Decepticons because they have been captured, I would be no better than Ultra Magnus.” 

“Should we free the others, boss?” Frenzy asked, straining his neck cables to look up at Megatron. 

“Not yet.” Megatron knelt down and gathered Soundwave up in his arms, taking care to watch out for some of the nastier looking wounds. “I will see about freeing the other prisoners after I have been assured that the rest of the slavers have been taken care of and we have complete control of the ship.” Once he had Soundwave secured, he turned on his heel and left the cell.

“W-Wait!” Megatron did not stop, but he did slow down, which was enough to allow Rumble to catch up with him. The little cassette had to run to keep up with his wide strides. “What about OP? We can’t just leave him!” His visor looked from Megatron to Soundwave. “Boss, you promised!”

Megatron glanced down at Soundwave, a brow raised in silent question. Soundwave was silent for a moment before finally meeting Megatron’s optics. 

“Soundwave: has a request, Lord Megatron.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only three chapters and this thing already has over 100 kudos?!? @~@ asfhjksjfkjhl y'all are insane wtf


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nano-klik - about a second  
> Klik - a minute  
> Mega-cycle - 2.6 hours  
> Deca-cycle - 10 days  
> Stellar cycle - a year  
> Vorn - 83 years

REBOOT PROTOCOLS INITIATED: PROCEED?

**Y** /N

REBOOTING…

For the first time in deca-cycles, Optimus wasn’t immediately snapped with countless warnings alerting him that he was low on energon. That alone was strange. He was sad to admit that he’d gotten used to the aching hunger in his tanks. Then there was the realization that he was cold. Normally, this wouldn’t be an issue. His frame was able handle extreme temperatures. But there was something about just how much of the cold he could _feel_ that made Optimus uneasy.

He attempted to sit up, only to find it nearly impossible to do. 

“Don’t try to sit up. You got a long way to go before you’ll have enough energy for it. All you’ll do is strain yourself and frag up your wiring even more.” There was some shuffling before the voice grumbled out “Not that it really can _get_ much worse.” Optimus tried to turn his helm to see who was speaking, but the mech appeared a moment later. He was a truly optic-straining neon green and deep purple with bright red optics. A crane peeked out from his back, along with a hook. A construction alt-mode then, Optimus thought, before his tanks turned upon seeing the Decepticon insignia on the mech’s chassis.

“Wh-”

“Ah! No talking!” The mech snapped before pulling a penlight out of his subspace. “Open up.” Unsure what else he could do, Optimus hesitantly complied, opening his intake and sliding his facemask back. The mech shined the light inside, looking for something. After a moment, the mech grunted and clicked the light off before moving away. Optimus snapped his facemask back in place and watched the mech for a moment before their optics met. “You can talk. I had to make sure that there wasn’t any rust residue in your intake. Last thing I need is you spreading that slag airborne. It’s been Pit enough to get rid of this infection.” 

“Infection?” The mech looked at Optimus like he’d just sprouted two more helms. 

“The rust infection. That you’ve had for deca-cycles now.”

Ah. Optimus tried to shift around, but again, his frame didn’t move. “Is-Was it that bad?”

The mech scoffed. “I’ve been a medic for vorns now, and I’ve never seen one this bad on a mech that’s still functioning. You’re lucky it didn’t shut you down permanently. Give it a few more mega-cycles and you would’ve been done for.” 

Something in Optimus’ tank curled, but all he could manage was a weak “Oh.”

“Yeah, ‘oh.’” Optimus looked around the room. It seemed like a standard medical bay, with machines and tools scattered around. He looked back to see the mech fiddling with something on a nearby tray.

“You’re not a slaver.” It wasn’t a question.

The mech snorted. “Hardly.”

“How did I-? Where am I?”

“You’re on the Nemesis.” The Nemesis? That sounded familiar. The name nagged at something in Optimus’ processor, but try as he might, he couldn’t recall what it had been. 

“Where are the others?”

“On the other ship. We’re heading for a neutral port, last I heard. Hopefully I’ll be able to restock then.”

“But, why not just let them go? Let them fly the ship away?”

“Don’t know, don’t really care. S’not my problem.” The mech looked over something that was just out of Optimus’ peripheral vision before sliding a needle out of a compartment in his arm. “You still got a lot of healing to do, and you’re wasting energon just lying awake like this. I’m putting you under until your readings stabilize some more.”

Optimus didn’t get a chance to argue against that before he was drifting off again.

* * *

Optimus was sick of recharging. More specifically, he was sick of medically-induced recharging. The Decepticon medic - it had taken a few days for Optimus to learn that his name was Hook - had been insistent that Optimus rest so that his frame could focus on self-repair. It had been almost a deca-cycle before Optimus had the strength to sit up.

Which was when he discovered that almost all of his armor had been removed, leaving vulnerable protoform completely exposed. 

A Cybertronian’s armor plating was removable, but it was a rare thing for anyone to actually do it. Armor wasn’t uncomfortable in any way, and was made to be worn at all times. Optimus had only had armor plating removed a handful of times throughout his life, and it had never been to this extent.

After his initial freak-out, Hook had explained that the rust infection had spread to almost every other part of his frame. It had been especially prominent on the inside of his armor, forcing Hook to scrap all of it. Optimus pulled his mesh blanket closer to his bare chassis at that news. When Hook had told him that wasn’t all of it, Optimus had squirmed with dread. 

Hook had pulled away the mesh covering to reveal Optimus’ leg. Or where it used to be. 

His entire leg had been amputated from the hip down, leaving a hollow socket in his protoform that Optimus hated. Hook explained that the rust had been the worst in his knee, having eaten through critical wiring and tubing. There had been no saving it. He assured Optimus that he was looking through his supplies to find a temporary replacement until they got to a hospital, where they would be able to give him a proper replacement with his model code.

Optimus knew that limb replacement wasn’t a big deal for their species. It was a common issue during the war. He knew this. But the idea of integrating foreign protoform into his frame didn’t sit right with him. And the knowledge that the replacement he would be provided with before then wouldn’t even be protoform wasn’t comforting at all. He tried to not think too much about it as he kept himself wrapped up in his blanket to fight off the cold and keep some sense of modesty.

  
  


It was a few more days until Optimus was allowed visitors. The news that he even had visitors was surprising to him, but Hook assured him that he’d had to keep Optimus in quarantine until the rust had been completely wiped from his systems. 

“OP!” Optimus yelped as a red missile leapt up onto his cot and into his lap. 

“Rumble, Rumble, off, please!” Optimus begged, his protoform aching in protest.

“You bolts-for-brains! He’s still healing!” cried Frenzy as he reached up and snatched Rumble’s wrist before tugging him off of Optimus’ lap. Optimus collected himself and worked through the pain in his frame before slowly sitting up. His blanket slid off of his bare chassis and gathered in his lap, causing both twins to cease their bickering.

“You’re naked!” Rumble exclaimed, pointing at Optimus’ protoform. 

Optimus grimaced as he quickly gathered his blanket and pulled it over his shoulders. “Yes, I know,” he muttered.

“Why are you naked?” Rumble asked.

“You can’t just ask him that,” Frenzy snapped, shoving his brother’s shoulder.

“Why not? He is.”

“That doesn’t mean you just say it! Are you glitched or something?”

“Who are you callin’ glitched?!”

“Rumble. Frenzy: desist.” Optimus couldn't help but feel a bit relieved as Soundwave walked in, Lazerbeak sitting on her usual perch on his shoulder. Both she and Soundwave had been patched up, and aside from a small brace on Soundwave’s left wrist, looked perfectly fine. Optimus smiled slightly.

“Soundwave. It’s good to see a familiar face.”

“Query: current condition?”

“Well, Hook told me that I still have a long way to go before all of the rust is out of my system. I’ve had to have so many chemical baths, I’m sure my frame is going to start melting.” 

“Is it ‘cause you’re naked?” Rumble asked before Frenzy smacked him on the back of the helm. “Ow! Watch it, slaghead!”

Optimus huffed as he pulled the blanket up higher. Soundwave sat down in a nearby chair and glanced down at something. Optimus noticed for the first time that there was a feline minibot sitting at Soundwave’s pedes. The minibot looked up at Soundwave, audials flicking before they stood up and walked away somewhere. 

“Query: reason for exposed protoform?” Optimus flinched, caught off-guard by the question.

“I, uh,” He squirmed underneath his blanket, “The rust ate away at a lot of my armor. It wasn’t salvageable. Hook said he’d try to find me some that’s compatible with my model number.” The feline minibot returned, a folded blanket draped across its back. It leapt up onto Optimus' berth before unceremoniously dumping the blanket onto his remaining leg. Optimus took the extra blanket - which Hook has denied him again and again - and offered the minibot a warm smile. "Thank you, erm…"

"Designation: Ravage," Soundwave supplied.

"Thank you, Ravage." The minibot dipped its helm once before leaping over onto Soundwave's lap before curling up. Optimus spread out the blanket before smirking at Soundwave. "Just how many cassettes do you have?"

"Total: five. Ravage: remained on the Nemesis while the mission was carried out. Ravage: was not present during captivity." 

“Ah.” Optimus readjusted himself on the berth as he replaced his blankets. In his efforts to get comfortable, his blankets slipped away, momentarily exposing the hollow joint of his amputated leg. 

“Whoa!” Rumble’s visor brightened in surprise and awe. “They really took the whole leg off?! That’s so cool!”

“I can assure you, it isn’t,” Optimus replied as he quickly covered himself again. 

“Soundwave: apologizes.”

Optimus frowned. “What? You- For what?”

“Soundwave: failed to offer proper treatment of wound. Result: infection festered.”

“What? No.” Optimus met Soundwave’s visor. “You and I agreed that it wasn’t worth the risk of getting any of your cassettes infected. And with how small they are, they wouldn’t have made it until we were rescued.” He paused then before looking around the room. “We erm, we _were_ rescued, weren’t we?”

“Affirmative. Soundwave: assured that Optimus was brought here.” 

Optimus stared at Soundwave for a moment. “And where exactly is here? Hook told me we’re on a ship called the Nemesis, but that’s all.”

“Affirmative. Current location: Decepticon commandship Nemesis.”

Commandship? This was a _commandship_ ? That meant there were _Decepticon officers_ on this ship. Optimus noticed how wide both Rumble and Frenzy were grinning at him, as if they were waiting for him to make some sort of connection. He furrowed his brow as he thought for a moment. “Soundwave,” he said after a klik. “What exactly is it that you do for the Decepticons?”

For a moment, he thought Soundwave wasn’t going to answer him. 

“Soundwave: Head of Decepticon communications.” Optimus blinked, genuinely surprised that Soundwave had answered him at all. 

“Boss is in charge if somethin’ happens to Megatron and Starscream too!” Rumble added, his smile growing almost impossibly wider. Optimus actually gaped at that. He was momentarily thankful for his facemask as he looked back at Soundwave with wide optics.

“You’re the _Decepticon third-in-command?_ ” he all but wheezed out. 

Soundwave didn’t flinch. His EM field didn’t even fluctuate. “Affirmative.”

“What the _frag_ were you doing on a slave ship?!”

“It wasn’t his fault,” Frenzy interjected. “We’d just finished a mission. Fraggin’ slavers showed up just as we came out of a jump. By the time we even knew they were there, they were on top of us. Boss was still hooked up to the ship’s systems and everything.”

“Frenzy: desist.” Soundwave fixed both of the twins with a hard look. Both minibots seemed to shrivel under his gaze, their helms falling down to stare at the floor. Despite Soundwave’s appearance, Optimus got the impression that he was glaring at his cassettes. “Mission details: classified.”

“R-Right,” Frenzy muttered. Optimus took pity on the minibot and changed the subject.

“What happens to me now?” Soundwave glanced up at him, and Optimus frowned slightly. “I… I’m not going to join the Decepticons, if that's what you were hoping for.”

“Why not?” Rumble frowned as he crossed his arms. “Think you’re too good for us, huh, Autobot?”

“No.” Optimus fiddled with one of his blankets. “But I took an oath. I made a promise. And I keep my promises.” He looked back at Soundwave. “Please don’t think I’m not grateful for everything you’ve done for me. I really am! I just… I can’t.” He laced his EM field with gratitude to prove that his words were genuine. “You of all bots understand loyalty.”

Soundwave was quiet for a long moment. “Affirmative.”

“Ugh, the Autobots are so boring though!” Rumble argued, as if he truly believed that was something to take into consideration. “They talk all stuffy and act like they’re better than everyone else!”

“That is because they believe that they are.” The new voice immediately drew everyone’s attention. Optimus could sense the immediate change in everyone’s fields, especially Soundwave’s. Reverence. Respect. Admiration. Familiarity. “It would seem that you have taken the liberty of trying to convert the Autobot yourself, Soundwave.” 

When Optimus saw the mech for the first time, something clenched in his spark. This was the biggest mech he had ever seen in his functioning. He was huge, with gunmetal grey plating that sharpened to a point all along his shoulders and chassis. Even with his field pulled in, Optimus could feel how imposing it was. Everything about the mech spoke of power. Pure, unchecked power.

With a sense of courage that he didn’t even know he possessed, Optimus looked up and met Megatron’s gaze.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's weird for me to write chapters this short. Yes, plating can come off, but it's rare and weird. Think of it like a hermit crab being forced out of its shell.
> 
> Over 150 kudos?!? asdfjhfhjslkhj why?????


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nano-klik - about a second  
> Klik - a minute  
> Mega-cycle - 2.6 hours  
> Deca-cycle - 10 days  
> Stellar cycle - a year  
> Vorn - 83 years

When Soundwave had requested that a mech be brought onboard the Nemesis for medical treatment, Megatron hadn’t thought too much of it. Not at first, anyways. Then Rumble had let it slip that the mech was an Autobot. Suddenly, Megatron was very interested as to who he was. 

From Hook’s reports, the Autobot had a severe rust infection - so severe in fact that the mech had been immediately put into quarantine. Hook had to pass off his duties to other medics since he had been the one to do the initial examination and discovered the rust. It had been rather irritating to be deprived of both his chief medical officer and this strange new acquisition. 

An Autobot who had been a crew member of a contracted mining company before the slave traders had taken their ship. It had taken almost a deca-cycle to gather information from all of the prisoners. The Autobot’s story checked out, much to Megatron’s annoyance. That he couldn’t simply toss the Autobot out into space or blast him through the spark was more frustrating than he’d predicted. 

Megatron had only briefly spoken to Soundwave concerning the mech, and in that short time, he was subjected to the twins bouncing around the medbay, asking when they could go visit “OP”. Despite his third-in-command’s utter ruthlessness, he was rather soft when it came to his charges. Whatever the Autobot had done to earn Soundwave’s concern, it had involved the cassettes. 

Megatron clearly saw the evidence of that as the twins clamored as close as possible to the Autobot as he spoke to Soundwave. Megatron hadn’t been planning on interrupting their conversation. On the contrary, he had planned on simply listening in as he tried to determine what sort of manipulation this Autobot was deploying. When the twins had started complaining about the Autobot faction, however, Megatron found that he could no longer keep quiet.

And now, here he was - standing before the mech that had, through some kind of mind games, earned the attention of Decepticon High Command. 

The Autobot wasn’t anything special. Quite underwhelming, if he was being honest. The plating around his helm was blue with yellow accents, which rather washed out the typical blue of his optics. Megatron did not know if the mech was wearing a facemask or if he’d simply been constructed without a mouth. Autobots were always looking for ways to cut corners when building newsparks. It was entirely possible that they had seen fit to construct a model of mechs that did not possess a complete face. 

The Autobot reminded Megatron of an organic pet he’d seen once during a meeting with one of his trade allies. Tiny, shivering, and positively pathetic looking. The mech looked as if a strong breeze would be enough to knock him offline. He couldn’t sense anything from the mech’s EM field, but the way he pulled the blanket up higher told Megatron that he was certainly uneasy. 

“And what about you?” Megatron eyed him with a raised brow. “Do you believe you are better than the rest of us, little Autobot?” The mech actually met Megatron’s optic and glared at him. He had to give the Autobot credit - he had more courage than Megatron had expected him to have. 

“I don’t make a habit of comparing myself to others.”

Megatron almost scoffed. Courage indeed. “An Autobot who exercises humility? I never thought I’d live to see the day.” The Autobot held his gaze, and Megatron couldn’t help but smirk. “I assume you have questions.” If it was possible, the Autobot glare intensified. 

“Are you actually going to answer them?” Shock bloomed out of Soundwave’s field before he got a chance to reel it in. Megatron brushed his own field with Soundwave’s to ease his surprise. 

“Perhaps,” he all but purred. The Autobot’s irritation was quickly becoming quite entertaining. But it seemed that despite his irritation, the Autobot was determined.

“Where are the other prisoners?”

“They have been released from their cells. For the time being, they will be staying on the _Dead Eye_.”

The Autobot’s brow furrowed in confusion. “You… freed them?”

“Did you expect me not to?” Of course the Autobot would believe that he would want to keep the prisoners in their cages. He probably expected Megatron to release only the Decepticons.

“You freed _all_ of the prisoners?”

“That is what I said.” Megatron rose a brow. “Are your audials malfunctioning?”

“You released Decepticons, Autobots, and neutrals and just _left them alone on the slave ship?_ ”

Ah, so that was the issue. “We are monitoring them. From what I have been told, everyone has grouped up with their faction and claimed a level of the ship.” It had been a bit more complicated than that. Megatron had to threaten to blow up the ship to keep the Autobots and Decepticons from killing each other. For once, he was trying to avoid any more casualties. He blamed his hangups concerning slavery for that.

After corralling each faction into a different level, he’d put Soundwave in charge of keeping watch for any suspicious activity. The _Dead Eye_ was Decepticon property now, and he’d be damned if he let any of these mechs destroy it. 

“What about the crew?” That drew Megatron back into the present. He scowled at the memory of the crew, especially that simpering, pathetic captain.

“The slavers have been dealt with.”

“You killed them.” It wasn’t a question.

“Yes.”

“Why?” The Autobot sounded aggravated, as if he was explaining something that should have been obvious. 

“You would have me allow them to live?”

“They should have been arrested! You could have easily held them in the brig and brought them to a neutral planet where they could answer for what they’ve done. Maybe even learn about some of the other mechs they’ve kidnapped so they can be identified and found. Now that’s not an option anymore.”

Megatron narrowed his optics. “What an utterly Autobot thing to say.”

“I _am_ an Autobot!”

“I can see that.” He took a step forward, pinning the mech with his stare. “You seem to share the same complete disregard of common sense.” The Autobot’s field was flickering with rage, but in his current state, Megatron was only amused. “Surely you are not naive enough to believe that those slavers would have actually faced any consequences?” 

Blue optics widened with surprise, and that was answer enough for Megatron. “Slavers have connections. Power. They always find ways to avoid the consequences of their actions. And even if, by some miracle, they were found guilty and imprisoned, it would be all too easy for them to simply use their connections to escape.” Megatron glanced at Soundwave, who was sitting quietly on his stool, wisely staying out of their conversation. “No, they had to die.” He looked back to the Autobot. “They took one of my officers and my followers. That alone made their lives forfeit.”

The Autobot looked like he wanted to say something. Megatron could feel the resistance in his field. But despite his inability to understand Megatron’s reasoning, the Autobot wisely chose to not push the issue any further. 

“What is your plan then?” The Autobot’s field began to mix with apprehension. “You don’t want to just kill off the mechs who don’t follow you, but you won’t let them leave either? Why not just let the neutrals and Autobots take the ship and leave?”

That actually did make Megatron scoff. “If you believe that I would simply offer the Autobots a ship that I have commandeered, you truly do have a malfunction.” Still, Megatron decided it would be easier to simply tell the Autobot instead of having him try to find out on his own and snoop around where he shouldn’t be. “The Nemesis does not have proper room or supplies to account for the Decepticons onboard. Also, if you remember, Autobot, the _Dead Eye_ is a neutral vessel - meaning it has a neutral energy signature. Even if I did allow the Autobots and neutrals to take the ship, they would be turned away the moment they entered Autobot space. That’s if the neutrals actually agree to travel with the Autobots. For all I know, the moment they disembark, the Autobots will try to put down the neutrals and the neutrals will retaliate.”

“You assume the Autobots would fire the first shot?”

“It is a habit you all seem to have.” The Autobot rolled his optics, but didn’t take the bait. Megatron was surprised. This one didn’t seem to have a short temper like so many of the Autobots still on the _Dead Eye_. A small relief. “For now, the ship’s engines have been disabled. We will keep them in our tractor beam until we arrive in Kritos.”

“Wait. Kritos? That’s all the way in the sixth quadrant.” The Autobot turned to look at Soundwave, as if he hoped for his third to reassure him. “Surely there’s a station closer than that?”

“There was,” Megatron interjected before Soundwave could speak. He would not be ignored by some shelless Autobot. “However, according to the records Soundwave has from the _Dead Eye_ ’s database, the slavers had arranged for assistance as soon as they arrived. If we had gone, we would have been met with more of those pathetic bots. While it would be rather cathartic to annihilate each and every one of those slavers, I must put the well-being of my Decepticons first. We are not properly equipped to take on a trafficking ring at the moment.”

“Kritos: both neutral and far from original destination. Risk of running into slavers: low.” Soundwave’s words seemed to finally ease some of the Autobot’s anxiety, as his field seemed to calm. 

“So what happens when we actually get to Kritos?” the Autobot asked. 

“When we get to the port, the prisoners will be freed and the _Dead Eye_ will be stripped for resources.”

“So you’re just going to leave them stranded?” 

Megatron’s patience was running thin at this point. He had allowed the Autobot’s attitude on Soundwave’s behalf, but the mech was taking liberties now. “I have neutralized their captors and freed them from their cages. I’ve allowed them to remain onboard the ship and have offered them safe passage to a neutral port.” He took a step closer. “Would you have me offer them our energon as well? Our weapons? Our shanix? Perhaps you would have me offer them my own quarters?”

The Autobot looked thoroughly cowed, his finials lowered and his back hunched as he looked away. Just like that, the Autobot’s supposed courage was gone. Megatron sneered. Whatever deception this Autobot had pulled to fool Soundwave, it had no effect on Megatron. This wasn’t the clever, compassionate mech that his friend had spoken of. 

He was soft - quite literally. 

Small. 

Vulnerable. 

Weak.

Megatron didn’t need to see anymore. “I leave it in your hands,” he said to Soundwave as he stepped away. He offered a final frigid stare at the shelless mech before leaving the medbay. 

As he walked away, he heard Rumble say “I think that went well!” followed by the thwack of someone hitting him.

* * *

Optimus was rarely angry. It just wasn’t in him. He’d read about the kind of anger that made heat pool in your tanks and bubble until your whole frame was trembling with rage. It seemed like something completely made-up. He’d never understood how anyone could be so angry.

Until now, that is. 

Despite the cold of having his protoform exposed, Optimus’ internal temperature was rising, and he knew his servos were trembling from gripping the blankets so tight. He grit his denta and scowled behind his mask as he glared at the doorway that Megatron had passed through only a moment ago.

How fragging dare he? Optimus had kept his guard up - how could he not when he was speaking to the leader of the Decepticons - but he’d still tried for civility. It would do him no good to start throwing insults and accusations at the mech who could easily order that he be thrown out into open space. But Megatron hadn’t returned the gesture in kind. No, instead, the fragger had outright accused him of having all sorts of prejudice and disdain for anyone who wasn’t an Autobot. As he was no better than the Functionists from the Golden Age. 

How. Fragging. _Dare_ he. 

Optimus was faintly aware of the twins arguing with each other while Soundwave tried to get them to behave, but the sound of energon rushing through his tubes was almost deafening as he felt himself actually getting hot with anger. Optimus did his best to try and reel in his feelings. He would not let anyone know that Megatron had gotten to him. He would not cower before that maniac. A small, condescending voice whispered in his processor that he already had, which only made the anger grow hotter and hotter.

A cool servo gently rested on one of his own trembling servos, and Optimus glanced over to see Ravage sitting on the edge of his berth, her audials flicking upwards and her optics wide with some emotion he couldn’t place. He bit the tip of his glossa as he forced serenity into his field to reassure the minicon.

Soundwave was ordering Rumble and Frenzy to transform so they could dock, and the twins were arguing against it, but Soundwave’s visor brightened and the twins flinched as if someone had shouted. Perhaps Soundwave _had_ shouted through that bond he shared with his cassettes - a bond he’d only mentioned briefly to Optimus down in the dark. Rumble and Frenzy grumbled for a few more moments before they begrudgingly transformed and allowed Soundwave to place them in his dock.

When he clicked the panel on his chassis shut, Soundwave looked up at Optimus. “Are you going to try to apologize for him?” 

It was said sarcastically, and Soundwave’s visor flickered for a moment before he said “Apology: unwarranted. Megatron: spoke only truth.” Of course. Optimus looked away, trying to keep his distaste from projecting in his field. He shouldn’t expect Megatron’s third-in-command to apologize for his leader’s words. No doubt Soundwave believed every word that came out of Megatron’s mouth. He would try to argue the point, but he doubted he would get anywhere.

A thought occurred to him, and Optimus glanced back at Soundwave for a brief moment before trying to activate his comm. It didn't immediately block him, which was good. That meant it had been reactivated since his rescue. He pulled up Ratchet's personal frequency and sent the call, only for a SIGNAL NOT FOUND message to pop up.

"Long-range communications: blocked," said Soundwave, and Optimus was almost certain he wasn't imagining the slight edge in his voice. 

"I have to make a call," Optimus tried, "He's my friend. I call him every other deca-cycle. He's got to be worried sick."

"Negative." Optimus was about to argue, but Soundwave continued. "Soundwave: accessed _Dead Eye_ database. Last communication: 1.2 deca-cycles ago. _Dead Eye_ allies: coordinated rendezvous. Risk of retaliation: high. Conclusion: no unauthorized long-range communications."

Optimus was frustrated because that actually made sense. If they were discovered, they would be met with the full force of an entire organized trafficking ring. Optimus wasn't positive of their victory, and he knew he certainly wouldn't be any help, laid up in bed with no armor and no leg, like some kind of invalid. He wanted to scream at his lack of options. But most of all, he wanted to scream because he could feel himself actually getting tired again. With a sharp ex-vent, Optimus leaned back against the headboard of the berth before running a servo over his face.

“Suggestion: recharge,” Soundwave said as he stood up. He glanced down at Ravage, who was still perched on the edge of the berth, before adding “Ravage: remain.” The minicon’s audials flicked in what Optimus assumed was an acknowledgement.

“You’re leaving?” The moment he said it, he wanted to take it back. It sounded like he was a frightened sparkling who didn’t want to be left alone after a bad reflux.

“Assignments: require attention. Suggestion: recharge.” 

Optimus could only offer a small wave as Soundwave exited the room, closing the door behind him. Once he’d left, Ravage hopped off of the berth and onto the now vacant stool. Optimus glanced at her for a moment.

“So what do you think I should do?” he asked. Ravage blinked at him before standing up, circling around the stool, and curling up into a ball. Optimus huffed and rolled over onto his side.

Figures.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What?
> 
> You thought they were going to just like each other right away?


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nano-klik - about a second  
> Klik - a minute  
> Mega-cycle - 2.6 hours  
> Deca-cycle - 10 days  
> Stellar cycle - a year  
> Vorn - 83 years

Over the next deca-cycle, the Nemesis prepared for the journey to the neutral port on Kritos. They would be passing by a much smaller station in a few cycles, and had coordinated to rendezvous with a crew that would resupply their stocks with vital resources, such as energon and medical supply. It had taken a bit of bartering to settle on a price for the supplies, and even then, it was still rather expensive. 

This was in part because the trip to Kritos was going to take twelve deca-cycles to reach. Normally, they would have just performed a series of hyper-jumps with two short stops to allow the ship to cool down. The journey would have only taken a single deca-cycle. Unfortunately, they had to take the  _ Dead Eye _ into account. There was no way to properly secure the ship to the  _ Nemesis _ during a jump. It was frustrating, but there was nothing to be done. Megatron had assured the Decepticons onboard that he would get them to Kritos, and he was not about to give up the  _ Dead Eye _ . They could get quite a bit of energon and shanix from it after stripping it. 

So they would be taking the long way. 

It was good to have Soundwave back in the fold after so long. Megatron had even started to miss the constant noise of Rumble and Frenzy as they ran down the corridors - something he would immediately regret after they set off a smoke bomb in the recreation room. 

Megatron had expected Soundwave to say something concerning the Autobot during their next shift together. Perhaps an appeal to not judge the mech so harshly, or even scold him. But no. Soundwave hadn’t so much as mentioned the Autobot, and Megatron was relieved. He was in no mood to discipline his third. 

He hadn’t failed to notice, however, that Soundwave wasn’t mentioning anything at all, choosing instead to delve helmfirst into his work. Megatron would have said something about it, but there were other things that needed his immediate attention, so he left it alone for now.

So they got to work, and Megatron did his best to forget about the past few days.

* * *

It was another three deca-cycles before Megatron was reminded about their ‘guest’. Normally, when Soundwave was working, he either kept his cassettes in their dock or allowed them to move about the ship with the condition that they keep out of trouble. It wasn’t a very effective deterrent for the twins, however. 

Right now, for example, the twins had actively knocked on the door of Soundwave’s dock for half a cycle before the mech finally relented and allowed them both out. As soon as they had transformed and landed on the floor, they both looked up at Soundwave with pleading optics and asked if they could pretty please go see ‘OP’. Soundwave stared at them both for a while. Any other mech would have become uncomfortable under that stare, but Rumble and Frenzy were not so easily perturbed. 

With a small dip of his helm, Soundwave offered a quiet “Affirmative.” The twins shared an ecstatic cheer of jubilation before they were running out of the bridge and down the corridor. Soundwave watched them go before turning back to his console. A moment later, his dock opened again, and this time, Lazerbeak and Ratbat ejected themselves. The avian minicons made themselves comfortable on either of Soundwave’s shoulders before plugging into the systems and assisting their host. 

Megatron had gone back to his own work, his mind put at ease with the familiar brush of Soundwave’s field near his own. 

He had hoped that the outburst from the twins was a one-time occurrence, but of course, he wouldn’t be so fortunate. It seemed that whenever he was around Soundwave and his cassettes, the twins were asking if they could go visit the Autobot. And when they weren’t doing that, they would yammer on incessantly about him to both Soundwave and their fellow cassettes. It was constantly “OP played this with me” and “I told OP about that.” On and on it went, and the longer it went on, the more it began to grate on Megatron’s nerves. 

Still, he said nothing, and allowed Soundwave to handle disciplining his minicons. Megatron had a sneaking suspicion that Soundwave was allowing Rumble and Frenzy to get away with more mischief as a tactic against him, but he had yet to confront his third. There were much more important things to focus on.

Such as the energon shortages.

It had started out some vorns ago. Reports came in from some of the civilian colonies citing a decrease in energon production, as well as fewer and fewer mining locations. Megatron hadn’t given it too much thought in the beginning, simply rerouting a few transport vessels to make up for the loss. He’d asked Soundwave to keep watch of the situation, and had gone on with his campaign.

Then more and more reports came in - not just from civilian colonies, but from Decepticon military outposts. Fewer new energon mines, less production output, and power failures were becoming more and more common. When Decepticon High Command received its first report of lower energon levels from Lucifer, Megatron knew that action needed to be taken.

Establishing alliances was bumped up to a much higher priority, and Megatron was soon assigning higher ranking officers to the negotiations. With the rising urgency of the situation, Megatron had finally asked Soundwave to begin taking part in the negotiations. Despite Soundwave’s compliance, Megatron couldn’t help but feel responsible for Soundwave’s capture. 

Megatron’s servo hovered over the holo-display in front of him as he remembered his third’s captivity. More specifically, the Autobot that had been present there as well. Shockwave had not reported any energon loss on Cybertron or Autobot-controlled space. Megatron trusted his spymaster’s judgement. However, Shockwave was working directly under Ultra Magnus in the heart of Cybertron. If the Autobots were experiencing an energon shortage, it would hardly affect Autobot Command Central. If there was a shortage, it would affect the workers first. 

Soundwave had mentioned that the Autobot had been a contracted worker. If there was anyone who would feel the strain of the lack of resources, it would be him. 

Megatron debated sending Soundwave, but quickly decided against it. Soundwave had already presented all of the intel he had gathered from his captivity. There had been very little information given about the Autobot, and when Megatron had asked Soundwave to elaborate, he had confessed that the Autobot rarely spoke about his faction, and none of the information was particularly useful. 

Megatron pondered for a klik or so before minimizing the display. He ordered Soundwave to take over command of the bridge while he attended to his duties elsewhere and left the main bridge without another word. 

* * *

The first thing Megatron noticed when he entered the medbay was that the Autobot had finally received outer armor. It was a dark navy with deep red accents, and despite the weld marks indicating that the plating had been heavily altered, it looked rather bulky and awkward on the Autobot. It made the mech’s missing leg all the more noticable. 

As soon as the Autobot spotted Megatron, he was straining himself to sit up while not taking his optics off of him. “I see that my medic has found you suitable replacements for your armor,” he said by way of greeting. 

“Yes, he did.” The Autobot’s tone was sharp, almost defensive. Understandable, he thought, but not what he wanted. If Megatron was to get any useful information out of the mech, he would have to appeal to his more compassionate nature. The first step would be to at least try to not appear as threatening as he was right now. 

“I’m sure you must be relieved to no longer be so exposed.” As he said it, he sat down on the nearby chair. “I’ve been told that having exposed protoform is quite uncomfortable.”

“You’ve been ‘told?’” the Autobot questioned.

“I have never had a need to replace or remove my armor.” Megatron smirked. He could sense the stifled irritation in the mech’s field as he shifted in place. Megatron gave the Autobot’s new armor a cursory glance, but that was enough to tell him that it had been shaped from seeker plating. He took a moment to be disappointed that Starscream was no longer on the Nemesis - he would have enjoyed seeing the Air Commander shriek with outrage over seeing a civilian ground-frame receive seeker armor. No matter that seeker armor was thinner to make it more streamlined, making it ideal for shaping into temporary replacements. The fact that seeker armor had even been considered would be seen as a grave insult.

“What do you want?” The Autobot narrowed his optics.

“You assume I want something?”

The Autobot was clearly not amused. “I’ve been here for deca-cycles now and this is the first time you’ve deigned to visit me since the first time. Clearly you want something.” Well, at least he was under no allusions, Megatron thought. Still, the Autobot’s intuition could prove to be difficult if he allowed it to go unchecked.

“Fair enough.” He leaned forward slightly in his seat, eyeing the Autobot. “I assume that Soundwave has explained what will be expected of you once you are capable of moving?” The Autobot’s shoulders tensed but he did not break eye contact with him.

“He did.” 

Megatron fought to keep the irritation off of his expression. He had no desire to wring conversation out of the Autobot, but it was becoming apparent that he would have no other choice. “And you have no objections?”

“Whether or not I object or not doesn’t seem to have any effect on the decision,” the mech said matter-of-factly. “I just don’t see what sort of work you think I could possibly do in this sort of condition.” He motioned to the hollow socket of his hip for emphasis. Megatron leaned back in his seat and crossed one leg over the other.

“You were a contracted worker before you were captured, yes? What sort of work did you do?”

“How did you-? Wait. No, nevermind. Of course Soundwave told you.” 

“Indeed he did. My communications officer was imprisoned alongside you for deca-cycles, and yet, the personal file he has put together on you is rather scarce. Why is that?”

“There isn’t much to tell. Nothing that you would be interested in.”

“Perhaps.” Megatron crossed his arms. “You still haven’t told me what your job was? I doubt an Autobot would  _ lower _ himself to do anything too distasteful.”

That made the edges of the Autobot's field curl with resentment. "If you're trying to figure out if I was doing anything illegal, the answer is no. It wasn't  _ that _ kind of contracted work." 

It would seem that he had offended the little Autobot's precious sensibilities, Megatron thought. "Oh? Then please, elaborate." 

The Autobot looked like he would rather chew gravel than deign to converse with Megatron, but he answered "We were contracted miners. When colonies needed extra servos, they would call us." Megatron actually scoffed this time.

"A miner?" he chuckled as he glanced over the Autobot's poorly-welded frame. "You certainly don't seem the type."

"What's  _ that _ supposed to mean?"

"I bet you aren't even cleared for mid-level work. Your frame doesn't look like it could accept the coding needed, much less the armor. A shot to the leg wouldn't have been so critical if you were properly outfitted." The Autobot said nothing, so he continued. "Hook never reported any integrated tools or weapons, which are absolutely detrimental when working underground. Any contractor in their right mind wouldn't have cleared you to work. So either your manager is a negligent fool, or he sees you as an easy write-off." 

For a klik, the Autobot was silent. Then his optics crinkled at the edges and Megatron sensed faint amusement blooming in the mech’s field. “If I didn’t know any better, I would think that you were talking like a Functionist.” Megatron’s vents stalled as his whole frame tensed. “Never thought I’d live to hear _ that _ .” And then he snickered, like he’d told a joke. Megatron was silent for a few kliks, and it took another one before he managed to respond.

“Because I respect Soundwave and I do not wish to upset him any further, I will choose to ignore that.” Megatron’s voice was even, almost gentle, in a vicious sort of way. The amusement in the mech’s field eased, but did not fully disappear. Megatron had to curl his servos into fists to hide how they were threatening to tremble with barely suppressed rage. It would do him no good for the Autobot to know just how close he was to being blasted through the spark with a fusion cannon. “However, I would advise you to refrain from making… accusations like that in the future.”

The Autobot seemed quite sobered now. He met Megatron’s glare with some emotion that he couldn’t pinpoint, and he couldn't decide whether it irritated him further or not. “I don’t know what you expected to gain from talking to me, but I can assure you that I have nothing you want.” 

Megatron was starting to believe that the longer he stayed here - but he had to be sure. “Are you at least paid well?” 

The Autobot seemed genuinely surprised by the question. “What?”

“You are obviously familiar with the ideals of functionism, therefore you understand how poverty among the lower castes was perpetuated by lower wages. Do you receive adequate payment for your labor?” 

“I- My pay is deposited directly into my account back on Cybertron. I was told when I was taken on that I would be receiving the minimum wage with a possibility of a raise after inspections.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“It’s the best you’re getting.” The Autobot leaded back and crossed his arms. “Why are you asking me this?”

“Call it curiosity. It has been a long time since I have been on our homeworld, as I’m sure you know, Autobot.” The mech’s brow only twitched, but it was enough for Megatron to notice. “I don’t suppose you would be willing to delve any information about the state of affairs among your Council.”

“No, I wouldn’t.”

“Hm. Regardless, you will be expected to work once you are able to leave the medbay.”

“You still haven’t told me what sort of work that is.”

“I needed to assess your capabilities. However, it would seem that you will not be capable of anything too strenuous.” Megatron glanced at the Autobot’s missing leg. “Cleaning duty, then.”

“How generous,” the mech deadpanned. There was a finality in his tone that told Megatron he would be getting no more information out of the Autobot. He debated pushing the issue, but it would do him no good in the long run. He needed the Autobot to lower his guard if he was to get anything useful out of him. 

“I’ve taken up enough of your precious time.” He stood up from the stool and smirked down at the little Autobot. “I’ll let you get back to whatever it is you were doing.” He turned to leave, feeling the growing indecision in the other mech’s field. 

“I’ve already been told about the block on communications, but I would still like a datapad.” 

Megatron paused and turned to glance back at the Autobot. “I am not going to allow you access to our ship’s systems.”

“I don’t want ship access,” the Autobot said with an exacerbated vent. “I just- I’d like to have something to read.”

Megatron blinked. He allowed intrigue and a hint of amusement to leak into his field. “You are asking me for text files?” He couldn’t stop the small smile. “Shouldn’t you be worried that I’ll give you Decepticon propaganda?” He’d expected sputtering and defensive objections. 

Instead, the little mech looked away as he mumbled “Can’t be any worse than Autobot propaganda…” That gave Megatron pause. He studied the mech then - really studied him. He looked frustrated and uncomfortable in his presence. 

He also looked tired. Not defensive - rather, he seemed to accept whatever conclusion he had come to in his mind. 

Interesting.

“I will see if there is anything available.” And with that, he turned away from the Autobot and left. 

It wasn't until he was halfway back to the bridge that Megatron realized that he had failed to learn anything about the Autobots' energon storages.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was originally going to be a lot longer, but it's been a while since I uploaded, so I'm cutting it off here. Hopefully I'll have the next chapter out much sooner!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nano-klik - about a second  
> Klik - a minute  
> Mega-cycle - 2.6 hours  
> Deca-cycle - 10 days  
> Stellar cycle - a year
> 
> WHY DOES THIS THING HAVE 300 KUDOS???? WHERE- HOW- WHY??!?!!?

It was a few days later that Megatron had managed to collect a few spare datapads. He’d loaded up a few Decepticon military history texts, along with some popular fiction, and even the first few volumes of a cheap romance series. That last one had been more of a joke than anything, but Megatron could definitely see an idealistic little Autobot becoming enraptured by such saccharine sweet words. 

As he looked over the selections, Megatron pondered. He tapped a digit against the edge of the top datapad and hummed with indecision. 

Then he uploaded one more file. 

Megatron hadn’t really thought about how he would get the datapads back to the Autobot. He couldn’t ask Soundwave or one of his cassettes to deliver them. They were all so adamant about Megatron not despising him that they would see this as a step in the right direction - which it wasn’t. It was for this same reason that he couldn’t simply ask one of the ship’s crew to deliver the datapads either. That left him to deliver them, which wouldn’t be much better. He could just imagine the Autobot acting smug when he brought the datapads, believing he had the lord of the Decepticons at his beck and call. 

That seemed to be a particular goal among the enemy ranks - trying to ‘tame the savage Decepticons.’ No, he wouldn’t be bringing them. 

It took a few kliks before he decided to simply leave the datapads outside of the medbay. It wasn’t guaranteed that they would even reach the Autobot, but Megatron wasn’t particularly interested in making sure they did. 

He waited until the shift change was well past before quietly making his way down to the medbay. As he neared the entrance, he noted the open door and heard familiar voices.

“-just not sure is all.”

“You’ll be fine. Boss’ll catch you if you start to fall.”

“It feels weird.”

“Looks weird too.” That was followed by a smack and a shocked exclamation.

“Worry: understandable. Request: trust that you will be caught.” There was a beat of silence before a short huff.

“Alright.”

Megatron stepped lightly as he came closer to the doorway and peered inside. Rumble, Frenzy, and Ravage were sitting on the berth while Ratbat and Lazerbeak sat perched high above. Soundwave stood to the side of the berth, holding on tight to the Autobot’s servos as he helped the mech to his pedes. 

It was then that Megatron noticed the Autobot’s newly attached leg for the first time. It was mostly protoform with only rudimentary plating to help distribute weight, and it moved sluggishly. The Autobot’s back was to the door, but Megatron could tell that the mech was using all of his concentration to stand and keep his balance. He kept a firm grip on Soundwave’s servos as his frame rocked dangerously. Slowly, the Autobot took a tentative first step and groaned with pain.

“It feels wrong.”

“Integration: takes time. Exercise: heightens chances of the new protoform taking.”

“I know, I just-” He stumbled, but Soundwave stayed still as he held the Autobot in place, “- _fragging_ \- I’ve never had my protoform removed before. Having to integrate protoform that I wasn’t forged with feels… weird.”

“I’ve had both of my arms blown off before,” Frenzy said, a bright smile on his face. “And I got used to the protoform real quick. You got this, OP.”

“Suggestion: try again,” Soundwave said as he encouraged the Autobot to attempt another step. Megatron stood there by the doorway for a few more moments, simply watching as his third and his cassettes helped the Autobot make a slow circuit around the medbay. He received a ping on his internal commlink requesting his presence on the bridge. Quickly and silently, Megatron placed the datapads just outside of the doorway before leaving.

* * *

It was another three days before Megatron returned to the medbay. The Autobot was sitting up in his berth, completely engrossed in the datapad in his servos. “You finally got your leg replaced, I see,” Megatron said by way of greeting. The Autobot looked up from the datapad, optics blinking with surprise. “I take it you approve of my selections?” He stared at Megatron for a moment or so before answering him.

“I do.” His voice was quiet, lacking the venom Megatron had come to expect. Indecision blossomed in the Autobot’s field, and Megatron rose a brow.

“You look thoughtful,” he said. The Autobot looked away, squirming in his seat as he clicked the datapad off.

“I… owe you an apology.”

 _That_ made Megatron pause. “Oh?”

“What I said before, about you speaking like a functionist...” The Autobot couldn’t seem to meet Megatron’s optics as he spoke. “That was out of line. I shouldn’t have said it.” He brought his servos together in his lap, digits curling around each other in a surprisingly vulnerable display of discomfort.

Megatron blinked, utterly shocked to hear an Autobot actually _apologizing_ to him. He was familiar with the snide comments and jeers. In all these vorns of war, Megatron had known Autobots who would sooner double down on their stubborn ideologies rather than admit to any fault of their own. It was part of all that 'holier than thou' slag they spewed at their troops, along with the rhetoric of being a ‘cog in the great machine’. 

But this? Megatron wasn’t entirely sure what to make of this. The Autobot finally managed to glance up at Megatron again. 

“I know that I’m only here because of Soundwave. I’m sure that if you had it your way, I would have stayed on the _Dead Eye_ , or been tossed out into space. Nothing that I’ve done since I woke up has argued otherwise.” The Autobot wrung his servos. “But despite your mistrust of me, you permitted me to board your ship. You’ve allowed me medical care and energon and a berth. I’ve been treated better than any Decepticon prisoner would be in Autobot custody. 

“You even brought me something to read - I didn’t think you’d actually do that. But you did.” Megatron couldn’t be certain, but he thought that he’d detected a hint of humiliation in the Autobot’s field as he looked down at the datapad in his lap. “I suppose that just pointing out that I was being fed propaganda back on Cybertron doesn’t erase the fact that I’ve internalized quite a bit of it,” he said with a weak laugh, and there was no joy behind it. “I let my own emotions get the better of me, and I can’t afford to do that right now.” He was quiet for a moment before he quietly said “I’m sorry.”

Megatron went still. He had been presented with a rare opportunity. A fragile truce. There was no room for posturing now.

“I accept your apology,” he said, fighting to keep his tone even. The Autobot’s optics brightened for just a nano-klik as relief and some other positive emotion burst to life in his field - the strongest that Megatron had felt from the mech since meeting him. The Autobot seemed to realize what he’d done, because he was pulling his field tight to himself in the next klik. Megatron ignored the disappointment that threatened to bud at the loss of that field and decided to move on. “Which text are you on right now?”

“Oh!” The Autobot’s optics glinted with eagerness, and Megatron imagined that if the mech had a proper face, he would be smiling. “I’ve been reading over the battles around the Rust Sea to try and take the Hydrax Plateau. It’s been a remarkable read.” He held up the datapad and clicked it back on, revealing the chapter where he’d left off. “I remember that my professor only briefly covered it in my History of the Great War course. But this goes into so much more detail! And I actually get to read about the strategies deployed by the Decepticons.”

Megatron couldn’t help but find the Autobot’s genuine enthusiasm charming. “You studied other battles then?” he asked as he sat down on the nearby stool.

“We mostly focused on the larger-scaled battles, like Tyger Pax and Polyhex. The Autobot battle strategies were a lot more complex, so those are the ones the staff had us research.” The Autobot scrolled up to reread some of the earlier passages. “But there’s so much here that I hadn’t even considered. I had no idea that flight capabilities would change battle tactics so significantly.”

They were teaching civilians battle tactics? Masking his concern, Megatron asked “May I ask where you studied? I don’t recall hearing about the science academies including battle tactics in their curriculums.” He didn’t miss how the Autobot’s frame seemed to go rigid at the question. 

After a moment, the Autobot said almost shyly “I… I trained at the Autobot Academy.” 

Megatron had to fight to keep the surprise off of his face. The Autobot Academy was responsible for training the Elite Guard. Everyone who graduated from there usually went on to gain rather high rankings in the Autobot military, if he was remembering Shockwave’s report correctly.

He couldn’t help but ask. “What is an Academy bot doing on a contract mining crew?” The Autobot bristled. 

There was an uncomfortable silence before the Autobot said “I was… I was expelled.” Megatron could tell that the Autobot was clearly uncomfortable talking about it, but he couldn’t help himself from asking.

“May I ask why?” The Autobot’s demeanor completely changed at the question. His entire frame stilled, his field pulled in tight and his optics staring down at nothing. Megatron recognized that look in the mech’s optics - it had become an unfortunately common sight amongst his ranks, especially during the height of the Great War. 

He’d seen that empty look on enough faces that never made it to the next battle.

Megatron opened his mouth to change the subject when the Autobot finally said “There was an accident. I was the senior cadet, so the blame fell on me. So they expelled me.” Short and incredibly vague. There was clearly much more to the story, but the haunted look in the Autobot’s optics told Megatron enough. Someone went offline.

Switching tactics, Megatron said “Is this the only text you’ve read?” The Autobot blinked, as if coming out of whatever dark fog had been clouding his processor, before glancing up at him.

“No,” he said softly. “I’ve read a few of the others.”

“And?”

“And what?”

“Did they exceed your expectations as well?” Megatron added a light teasing tone to the question. It did the trick, as the Autobot seemed to slowly return to cautious ease. Indeed, the mech actually rose his brow as he kept Megatron’s stare.

“I get the feeling you only have one text you actually want my thoughts on.” As if to further prove his point, the Autobot clicked on the datapad and pulled up another datafile. Even from this angle, Megatron clearly recognized the forward for _Towards Peace_. “I have to say,” said the Autobot, “I thought you’d sent me this as a taunt.”

Megatron wouldn’t deny that it had been - in a way. He had no doubt that the Autobot had never even read the Decepticon manifesto. No doubt it had been banned on Cybertron. But something else had compelled Megatron to add the text to the small collection. 

“Perhaps,” he finally said. “Or maybe I believed that you would have an open mind. You recognize that the Autobots spread misinformation amongst their ranks. It would stand to reason that you possess a sense of critical thinking that’s becoming more and more rare amongst your kind.” The Autobot let out a sharp huff that held no real bite in it. “Where did you stop then?”

“I didn’t.”

Megatron paused. “Pardon?”

“I finished it.” 

Megatron’s optics flickered. “You… finished it.”

“It wasn’t too difficult. I’ve had to read much longer texts in a shorter amount of time for my classes.”

“I see.” At first, Megatron wasn’t sure what to make of the mech. _Towards Peace_ was not too long - he’d had to revise the final draft multiple times so that it wouldn’t be so long as to turn away potential sympathizers. But even so, it usually took a mech a few days to read over the text and completely grasp its meaning. There were some amongst his ranks who still didn’t fully understand it, to Megatron’s chagrin. 

But the Autobot had only had these texts for three days, and he admitted that he’d read some of the others as well. Megatron was starting to doubt that the Autobot had actually _read_ the text. 

“Well,” Megatron hummed, “Would the Autobot care to offer me his feedback?” 

“I wasn’t aware you wanted any,” said the Autobot, and Megatron could hear the smile in his tone. “Doesn’t seem like the sort of thing you’d care to hear from an Autobot.” 

Fair enough, Megatron supposed. “Call me curious.” The Autobot’s optics flickered with genuine surprise - and possibly eagerness.

“Well, for one thing, reading the entire work answers a lot of questions I initially had. There are a few excerpts we studied in the academy, but there was never any clear context for them. There’s no full copy of Towards Peace in the archives - just bits and pieces. And those are heavily redacted.”

That didn’t surprise Megatron at all. It was expected that his words would be taken and twisted to paint him and his Decepticons in a menacing light. How very Autobot.

“You speak very clearly in your writing. It’s not too complicated that I can’t follow along, but it’s not demeaning either. I can tell that you were trying to genuinely speak to the people of Cybertron - not just berate the aristocracy or belittle the lower caste. And you’re brutally honest. I can see why so many mechs were put off by your work.”

“I take that as a compliment.” Amusement leaked out of the Autobot’s tighted field. 

“You start off really strong,” he continued, looking down at the datapad again. “You lay out everything clearly - how you feel about both the caste system and the Senate. You talk about the injustices that mecha face and make it personal by using testimonies. And not just the bigger issues, like energon rationing. You talk about the day-to-day struggles that the low caste faced - the looks they got, how other mecha treated them like they were diseased, all the microaggressions. 

“I can tell that you genuinely sympathized with these mecha. You truly wanted a better quality of life for them, and you were willing to fight to get that for them.” The glitter slightly faded from the Autobot’s optics as he paused. “It’s… when I got to the end that I saw the change.”

Megatron frowned. “Change?”

“All through the first half of the text, you write about freedom and equality for all mecha. But when I got to the end, it changed.” The Autobot selected another section. “You had put so much emphasis on individuality, and how both the Senate and the caste system wanted to stifle it by preaching about ‘the will of Primus’ and the ‘great machine’. You made it clear that every single mech had their own autonomy, and had a right to decide their fate. 

“But then the narrative starts to focus solely on the lower castes, especially the disposable class. You start to group different mecha together. Now the lower castes, the slaves, the disposables are the same. Now the problem isn’t the Senate or the caste system, but the entire aristocracy, and any other high caste mech. You accuse an acolyte of Primus of being no better than the scientists who performed empurata and shadowplay.”

“You would have me empathize with my oppressors?” Megatron snapped, irritation growing in his EM field.

“Don’t twist my words,” the Autobot snapped back. “You recognized that the caste system was responsible for keeping so many mecha in horrible, unsatisfying positions. But you fail to reinforce that realization when you talk about the enforcers or the scientists or any middle and high caste mecha.”

“Being forced to be a pit fighter or a construction bot is not the same as being forced to be a painter.”

“I never said it was.” The Autobot was raising his hackles, and Megatron was prepared to meet him blow for blow. “But surely you see that trying to compare hardships, to pit them against one another solves nothing. It turns the entire point of the work on its helm! It changes the narrative of the Senate and the system being at fault to blaming the higher ranked mecha.”

“They were content to be complicit in their enslavement!”

“They had just as much control over their careers as you did.”

The words were infuriating. Megatron was certain that the Autobot could sense just how angry he was becoming with how it was broadcasting in his field. 

“They just as easily stepped over our rusting corpses as they held out their servos in ‘solidarity’. It meant nothing - simply an attempt to ease the shouts of growing unrest.”

The Autobot’s brow pinched as he gripped the datapad tighter. “There will always be cruel mecha, Megatron,” he said, much quieter now. “There were enforcers who delighted in abusing their authority, just as there were gladiators who took pleasure in killing other mecha in the pits.” Megatron said nothing. “But there were enforcers who hated what they were made to do - who did not believe that what they were doing was any sort of justice. There were plenty of gladiators who were horrified with the violence they were capable of.” 

The Autobot seemed to gather his thoughts for a moment before he said “You spoke of change, but then you spoke of war. You talked to the lower castes directly in the ending, calling them to arms.” 

At some point, Megatron’s servos had curled into tight fists.

Quietly, so quietly, the Autobot asked “What happened to you?”

Never - not once - had anyone ever spoken to him this way. Strika certainly believed he wasn’t above criticism, but it came from a place of respect. Starscream simply wanted to challenge his authority. Then there were the mecha who all but worshipped him - Shockwave chief among them. Lugnut took it a step further by actually worshipping him. None of the Autobots that Megatron had encountered over these vorns and vorns of war had spoken to him with anything but malcontent or haughty pride. 

Never before had Megatron heard this sort of criticism. Certainly there had been others: Decepticon loyalists who saw his work as gospel and Autobots who scoffed and accused him of being glitched. But this? This was the first time that he had heard any sort of actual constructive criticism, instead of the mindless pandering of his soldiers and the mockery of Autobot command. 

Despite his irritation, a small part of him was secretly thrilled at the prospect of actual debate.

“You speak as if you believe that you know who I am, little Autobot - a bold claim indeed.”

“I thought I was starting to.” Megatron frowned, aso the Autobot continued. “I thought I was learning who you are - or at least who you were when the war began. But you changed.”

“Change is necessary so that one does not become stagnant and idle. Change is what sparks revolution, little Autobot.”

“So what happened? What changed you?”

Megatron scowled. “Why should I explain myself?”

“Call me curious.” Having his earlier explanation thrown back in his face was annoying. Megatron narrowed his optics.

“You truly wish to know? I warn you, Autobot, it is not a pleasant story.”

“Try me.”

Alright then. If the Autobot wanted the truth, then fine, Megatron would deliver. “When I had managed to have a moment away from my _handlers_ , I went to a local tavern. Not too busy, but popular enough that even the low-grade energon they served wasn’t utter slag. I was sitting at the bar, enjoying my energon and keeping to myself, when a fight broke out. No one tried to stop them, and a group of enforcers happened to be walking by when they saw what was happening. 

“So they came in to break it up. Only instead of stopping the fight, they escalated it, the idiots. Soon enough, everyone was brawling. I tried to get out unnoticed - don’t give me that look.” Megatron glared at the Autobot and the doubtful look in his optics. “I was not a mindless brute who took every opportunity to pick fights. As I was saying - I was trying to leave. I was almost to the door when I got caught between two mechs and tackled by an enforcer. Apparently being near a fight qualified as being involved, and I was arrested. I tried to explain to the enforcers that I had not been fighting, that I was simply caught in the crossfire, but no one would listen to me. I was taken away, thrown into prison without a trial, and they called it justice.”

The Autobot listened with rapt attention and slowly shook his helm. “That… That’s awful.”

Megatron’s laugh was cold and humorless. “I haven’t finished.” The Autobot fell silent. “When I was being detained, I was temporarily placed with another mech - an empurata who called himself Whirl.” He watched the Autobot closely as he continued. “He beat me to near-deactivation. If it hadn’t been for all the noise the other inmates were making, the enforcers may not have even shown up at all and made him stop.” The horror in the Autobot’s optics only grew with each word. 

“By the time I managed to get out, I had almost finished my final draft of _Towards Peace_ . Then the Decepticons established themselves with Megazerak as their leader and - well, the rest is all public record.” Megatron wondered for a moment if the Autobots had even gotten _that_ right - how Megazerak had befriended him not long after he’d published his work to the grid and convinced him to join him in his quest for revolution. How Megazerak soon strayed for the path he had laid out. 

How Megatron had staged a coup and banished the mech to the far reaches of known space.

“There was a time where I truly believed that I could find a solution to the rot that had festered on Cybertron. I did not set out as a revolutionist with the intent to hurt anyone. But after what happened, I realized that was simply an excuse I had made to try and avoid the inevitable. Pacifism in nothing but the naive rambling of young mecha who have never faced any true hardships.”

“That’s not true!” the Autobot interjected. Megatron studied him for a moment.

“Isn’t it? No amount of talking or negotiation will sway the barrel of a gun.” He didn’t allow the Autobot to answer. “I did not tell you this out of some strange desire to seek validation for my actions. It is a luxury I cannot afford. Especially not now, when my Decepticons need me more than ever.” 

“Then why keep the first part? Why didn’t you just rewrite the entire thing?”

He hummed as he mulled over it for a klik. “Sentimentality mostly. I was also stubborn and did not wish to start from scratch.” He laughed a dry laugh. “Ironic, given the state we left the old world in.” Megatron had looked away at some point, but he could still tell that the Autobot was watching him. 

Then he said “There are times where I wonder if there was more to it. If perhaps some subconscious part of my processor realized that there was some deeper meaning to my reasoning.” He glanced back at the Autobot, who was staring openly now. “But sometimes, there is no deeper meaning. No matter how much we wish it so.” 

He could have been imagining it, but Megatron could have sworn that in that moment, he had detected something like sympathy in the Autobot’s optics.

But that too was nothing but a naive assumption.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh thank Primus I finished it. This chapter fought me so gd hard, you don't even know =_= But I did it!  
> Be mindful of the canon divergence tag. Also I've never tried to write a debate like this before, so please be nice to my comment section ;-;


End file.
